


Unapproachable

by cumberpatchcats



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberpatchcats/pseuds/cumberpatchcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan is a romantic. He wants a relationship. Like a real actual relationship, but he knows he won't get one from Courfeyrac, the campus king of one-night-stands. (University AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Beep.**

The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.

**Beep.**

"Jean. Jean it's Couf. I don't know if you're actually gone or if you're huddling in the corner listening to this stupid message like the little wimp you are, but I'm kind of hoping it's the former because it'd make things a whole lot embarrassing, probably for the both of us. I just…okay, I'm going to come right out and say it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? You were the best thing to ever happen in my life and I fucking blew it. I know I can't make any excuses and I'm a shitfaced scumbag cunt and you deserve someone ten times the man I am, but I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since day one; I swear I'm not just pulling your leg. I can't even remember what I did in my life before you. I mean, I know I did something because I was alive, obviously, but…shit sorry I don't know where I was going with that. I'm not good with words, Jean, I'm not a poetic genius like you so I know I'm rambling. And it's not fair either, that I'm cursed like this because I have all these thoughts in my head right now that I can't spit out of my mouth, and nothing I say is coming out right. All I really want to say is that I'm sorry I royally fucked things up and I know you don't have a single reason to forgive me, but I really need to hear your voice right now, Jean Prouvaire. Your heart is so big, my little poet, and that's one of the many reasons I fell in love with you, so just please, if you can find just a sliver in that heart of yours to speak to me again, I'd very much apprecia-,"

**Your message time has expired. Please hang up or, press one for more options.**

The voice of the answering machine echoed throughout the entire room, stripped bare and completely empty of any furniture or possessions besides the solitary phone in the center of the vacancy.


	2. Jehan really likes clouds

Jehan smiles as he only half-heartedly stirs his coffee. With his other hand he writes, though his eyes are not fixated on his paper but rather on the striking young gentleman across the room. Tall, tanned, radiant eyes, strong jawline.

Jehan will not approach Courfeyrac-at least, not romantically. They've exchanged a few words here and there and have seen each on occasion, both sharing Enjolras as a mutual friend, Enjolras and Courfeyrac being friends since they were practically infants and Jehan being Enjolras's new roommate. But Jehan knows better. Courfeyrac is not approachable. His reputation on campus as the only man who will sleep with anything that breathes scares Jehan into simply admiring the womanizer from a distance.

Contrary to popular belief, Jehan is probably the only person in the world whose pants Courfeyrac does not want to get in. And by that, he means, if Jehan ever asked him for a shag, he'd pounce on the poet and have him on the spot, but he is by no means willing to initialize intimacy with the poet. See, Jehan is a flower. Soft, delicate, innocent, and sometimes Courfeyrac enjoys breaking the innocent yes, but there's just something about that subtle aura that surrounds Jehan's entire being that makes Courfeyrac want to take delicate care of this flower.

Courfeyrac stands up, no longer interested in watching Grantaire sleep in the comfy armchair of the coffee shop, waking up every few minutes to bitch about how terrible the sun and happiness and hope and life is. Jeez, what a fucking cynic.

He stops in front of Jehan, who does not seem very surprised to see him. "Writing again, Prouvaire?"

Jehan nods carelessly, dropping his head down to keep his eyes on his journal. When he does, his blond hair drapes over his face so that Courfeyrac can hardly make out his profile.

"Don't you get sick of it?" Courfeyrac snorts, taking the seat across the poet without permission, although Jehan doesn't seem to mind. "Like, don't you do enough writing in class?"

At that comment, Jehan lets out a small laugh and tucks a large strand of hair back behind his ear where it belongs. "Enjolras does nothing but debate outside of debate class."

Courfeyrac simply shrugs. "All right, you win." Then he reaches an arm across the table to snatch Jehan's journal. "Whatcha writing?"

If it had been anybody else, Jehan would have screamed and tore his journal away from them-his poetry outside of school was special, you know, and nobody was especially allowed to see a poem that had not been revised at least ten times over. Courfeyrac knew this, but he did not care, and Jehan did not care. He had stolen the poetry journal the very first time they had met, when Enjolras had wandered into the café with Courfeyrac on his tail, and happened to spot Jehan sitting at this very table. After he and Courfeyrac had been introduced, Courfeyrac immediately noticed the journal beneath Jehan's hand and had swiped it without a word. Jehan had gasped and held out his hand momentarily as if in an attempt to get his work back, but it was halfhearted from the very start and Jehan hadn't been able to figure out why. He still hasn't been able to figure out why.

Courfeyrac had read a poem and Jehan had fidgeted. When Courfeyrac had set the book back down in front of its owner, his face broke into a stupid grin and Jehan was expecting him to call the poem childish, funny, ridiculous, or all of the above. Instead, Courfeyrac had asked when Jehan had sold his soul to the devil for talent like that. Jehan had promptly choked on his own saliva and proceeded to have a three minute long coughing fit. What a great first impression.

Courfeyrac tilts his head to the side and his lips curl into the same goofy smile he had shown the very first time he had read Jehan's poetry and every time since then. He slides the journal back into Jehan's hands.

"Well?" Jehan asks impatiently, closing the journal and using it as an armrest.

"I could fall asleep reading that."

Jehan snorts. "Thanks a lot." The sarcasm in his voice is quite evident.

"I'm serious!" Courfeyrac insists. "I could really fall asleep. It's just so…" he struggles to find the right words. "Peaceful. Calming. It's like a lullaby, but for grown-ups, and without, you know, a song. And I swear that is a very interesting way to interpret clouds."

"You think?"

Courfeyrac laughs. "Dude, if I see a bunch of clouds in the sky, I get miserable. Clouds mean rain, and rain doesn't make anybody but Grantaire happy because that bastard hates everything people love and loves everything people hate. It's cold and wet, and it all comes from clouds. But you," here he points an accusatory finger at the author. "Do you really believe that? That clouds-even rain clouds represent purity? Innocence, even?"

At this, Jehan shrugs. "Not innocence, no. I doubt clouds live for very long. They're simply born out of nowhere and spend their entire life in the sky, floating around aimlessly and colliding with other clouds, all sharing the same faith. They look down on Earth and see everything, the good and the bad, so I wouldn't call them exactly innocent, but just think about how much they help the human race! They provide entertainment-you know, remember when you were a kid and every cloud looked like a dragon or an ice cream cone? They certainly make for excellent photographs, especially when they shroud really tall mountains like some sort of hazy security guard, and just when the world needs it most, they can provide rain, actual water falling out of the sky to clean the plants and to seep into the soil, isn't that magical?" As he speaks, his eyes are large and shiny and his chest rises and falls with every heated breath he takes. Eventually, his hands start flying about in all directions like a child discussing his birthday party.

Courfeyrac is completely intrigued. Not about the clouds, he couldn't give two shits about them, but at Jehan's enthusiasm. His interpretations. His passion for the most trivial of things. And Courfeyrac sighs. "You're so much better company than Grantaire."

Jehan gives a soft smile. "And there's another thing."

"Yeah?" Courfeyrac leans forward so his elbows are resting on the table.

Jehan mimics him, leaning forward as well so that they're closer than they've ever been to each other, but still at a reasonably reputable distance. "Yeah," Jehan repeats. "Clouds are really romantic."

Of course. Courfeyrac gives a short giggle. In the end, Jehan is obsessed with romance. Everything is romantic to him. "How so?" Courfeyrac asks, curious to hear Jehan's explanation this time.

Jehan's entire face is still lit up as he speaks. A stand of blond hair falls out of place again and he tucks it back behind his ear and says "clouds bring rain, and rain is really romantic too."

Courfeyrac lets out a pppfffttt of disbelief. "You're shitting me."

"I'm not!" Jehan insists, perhaps leaning forward a bit more. "You know, I've always wanted to be kissed in the rain."

At that, Courfeyrac lets out a round of large laughter, his shoulders shaking with every chuckle. "No, no Prouvaire, no you don't. Being kissed in the rain is horrible, trust me, I've done it."

The phrase is shocking to both of them, and silence falls upon the table.

Both parties lean away from each other and sit with their spines to the back of the chair-well, Courfeyrac slouches a bit.

"Oh," is Jehan's response, although Courfeyrac can't tell if it's disappointment or indifference in his voice. Jehan clears his throat as his rebellious strand of hair falls out of place again. "Of course you have," he says softly as he tucks the strand back.

Jehan does not want to be reminded of Courfeyrac's promiscuous activities. He doesn't want to imagine someone standing out in the romantic rain, cold and wet and kissing Courfeyrac. He clears his throat yet again and begins to stand up. "I have to go," he says briefly. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

And Courfeyrac manages out a simple "yeah" as he watches the poet take his leave.

Courfeyrac is a dangerous man. Both he and Jehan know it. He must not pursue Jehan, and Jehan must not pursue him, for if they happen to meet in the middle, disaster would be soon to follow.


	3. parties suck

It's all Combeferre's fault, really. It's always the quiet ones who turn out to be ferocious party animals. He shouldn't have thrown the party in the first place, and Joly had wholeheartedly agreed. When there didn't seem to be an end to the alcohol and people were literally swinging from the lights, Joly had excused himself for the remainder of the party with the excuse that he was going to have a panic attack and puke and he wanted to be alone to do it.

Combeferre insisted it was a party to celebrate Enjolras's return from the living dead after mid-term hell week had officially ended. Enjolras blatantly refused. Combeferre threatened to cry. Enjolras refused even more profusely. Combeferre threatened to buy the biggest national flag he could find and stomp on it, roll it in the dirt, and set it on fire. Enjolras punched him. He then looked frightened, as if afraid Combeferre would really do it, and agreed to come-but on the condition he brought a friend. Combeferre told him he really couldn't give a fuck.

Jehan liked parties. He enjoyed being with friends, and so when Enjolras sent him a distress text saying he had been blackmailed into attending a party and wanted Jehan to be his date because Jehan was the last hope of sensibility on the planet, Jehan had agreed instantly.

It's certainly a rowdy party. Combeferre swears he didn't know how the hell the kids from the robotics club and the entire basketball team found out about a party that was supposed to be exclusive and invite-only, but he suspects it has to do with Joly's planned panic attack and inability to keep his paranoid mouth shut. Enjolras pretty much spends the entire evening screaming and everything, especially Combeferre.

Jehan doesn't recognize too many people. When the party began, he had mostly stuck by Enjolras's side, but as much as Enjolras was a good friend, he was also excruciatingly boring, so Jehan had ventured off in search of a familiar face.

It doesn't take too long before a plastic cup full of liquid is held in front of him. When Jehan glances at the man in front of him, he immediately perks up. "I should have known you'd be here," he says as he takes the cup into his own hands.

Courfeyrac lets out a light chuckle. "Naturally. Parties are the best place to pick up a hot chick." And he regrets the sentence as soon as it leaves his lips.

Jehan bites his bottom lip awkwardly and directs his eyes away from Courfeyrac's face. Of course, this gives Courfeyrac the excellent moment to scan Jehan's entire body. The poet is dressed in a grey and white striped sweater and a pair of casual faded jeans, one leg of which is ripped open at the knee, a fashion choice that surprises Courfeyrac. Jehan's hair is pulled back into a very loose, half-assed attempt at a braid down to right between his shoulder blades so that strands of long blond hair are falling out of it in every direction. Jehan isn't significantly shorter than Courfeyrac, his nose comes to about Courfeyrac's lips. He looks like a flower, Courfeyrac decides. He always looks like a flower. Always.

And then Jehan speaks. "Any luck?" He hopes his voice doesn't sound broken.

Courfeyrac tries to play it cool as he sighs and folds his arms behind his neck. "Not so far. I think I've given up for tonight."

"That's too bad," Jehan says, finally holding the cup in his hands up to his lips and taking a sip.

Courfeyrac gives another sigh, this one drawn-out much longer than the first. "Yeah."

Jehan gets drunk easily. Jehan doesn't even drink most of the time, which is probably the main reason why he can't hold his liquor. Courfeyrac should have known-in fact, he probably does know-and yet he's the one constantly supplying Jehan with beer after beer. He thinks it's funny. He thinks it's cute how Jehan does nothing but laugh when he's drunk, how he runs off into rambles, but his passion stays the same-or perhaps grows larger-than when he's completely sober.

Enjolras looks over at the two of them once, and shudders in horror upon his eyes falling on Jehan's form, slumped against the wall and shaking with each burst of laughter, Courfeyrac standing over him-too close, too close-handing him yet another cup of beer. After that, Enjolras slips away from the party, knowing that his last hope of sensibility had flown out the door.

"You know," Jehan says, giggling again. "All the times we've seen each other, we've talked a lot, like a lot, and I don't even have your phone number!"

Five minutes and lots of stumbling later, Jehan enters his number into Courfeyrac's contact list, and Courfeyrac into Jehan's. A minute after that, Courfeyrac is finally completely hammered.

"I can't find my pocket," Jehan giggles as he reached behind himself but cannot find a place to put his phone.

"Let me help," Courfeyrac insists, probably not completely innocently. Jehan agrees, however, and Courfeyrac slips an arm between Jehan's back and the wall, his hand curling around Jehan's phone. He stops breathing as he feels around Jehan's backside trying to find the pocket. At one point, Jehan lets out a little yelp and another fit of giggling, but otherwise seems to be completely unfazed.

Eventually, the pocket is found, and Courfeyrac slips the phone inside much slower than necessary. Like seriously, he doesn't need to shove his entire hand in Jehan's back pocket to slip the phone in, but he does so anyways, and no matter how drunk he is, he knows he's being dangerous again.

Both of them are completely aware that Courfeyrac's hand is still in Jehan's back pocket. Both of them are aware of Jehan slowly sliding a hand up Courfeyrac's torso to grab a fistful of T-shirt right above Courfeyrac's stomach. Both of them are aware that Courferyac is leaning forward, and forward, and forward still, until Jehan can feel hot breath against his face.

Jehan's head slams into the wall the moment their lips collide. One of Courfeyrac's hands slams against the wall right next to Jehan's head, as if added assurance that Jehan won't try an run. His other hand tugs at Jehan's hair, fingers tangling in the golden locks and disturbing the poor braid even further. Jehan keeps one hand twisted in the fabric of Courfeyrac's shirt and the other hanging limp at his side.

It's not a soft kiss. It's rough and hard and Courfeyrac nips at Jehan's lip, causing the poet to cry out but not attempt to move away. It's painful when their teeth clack together, but both of them are too drunk and consumed with lust to give a fuck. Their mouths move together, open and active, tongue wrapping around each other and across teeth and down the sides of the opposite person's throat. If either of them were sober, it probably would have felt disgusting, but both were so far gone they were probably literally trying to swallow each other down.

Courfeyrac breathes into Jehan's mouth and Jehan breathes back, and groans as Courfeyrac yanks harshly at his head. Jehan keeps his fist in Courfeyrac's shirt, his fingers trembling, though if it's from the alcohol or the excitement is completely unclear. The hand that originally lay limp at his side comes up to grab Courfeyrac's hip, just where pelvis meets thigh.

That's when Courfeyrac feels wet. It comes as a complete surprise, the feeling of water dripping onto his face as if it were raining indoors. He is the first to break away, practically horrified, stumbling backwards a few inches and gazing directly at Jehan's face.

Jehan looks stoned, his eyes fixated on nothing, his mouth parted, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and his legs practically shaking beneath him. And he's crying. The tears that had fallen on Courfeyrac had originated from the corner of Jehan's eyes, but the poet does not make a sound.

Oh god.

Courfeyrac panics. His breath hitches and he grabs a fistful of his own hair knowing that he had just touched the one person he swore he would not touch. Jehan was his flower, his beautiful flower that he wanted to keep sweet and innocent, and he had to go and screw it up. He slammed Jehan. He pulled at his hair rough and harsh, he smashed his lips upon Jehan whereas Jehan deserved to be kissed softly and sweetly. Courfeyrac can't do anything right.

He turns to leave and go beat himself up, but Jehan grabs at his shirt again, another round of tears falling down his face. "Courf," he whispers.

'No,' Courfeyrac thinks. 'No, don't say anything. Don't forgive me. Don't reprimand me. Don't cast me away. Don't keep me.' But he stands still anyways.

"I don't care," Jehan croaks, twisting his trembling fingers into Courfeyrac's shirt. "I want you, Courf. I want you. I don't care if you screw other people too, I'll let you do whatever you want with whoever you want, just let me have you too. Please."

Jehan's tears might be contagious because Courfeyrac certainly feels like crying. He lets out a deep sigh and holds Jehan's face in his hands. Jehan reaches up to grab Courfeyrac's forearms as the taller man leans forward and presses a firm kiss upon the poet's forehead.

"You don't deserve that, Jean," Courfeyrac whispers against Jehan's skin. Their foreheads touch momentarily before Courfeyrac pulls away, yanking his forearms from Jehan's grasp. Jehan lets out a whine and reaches to touch Courfeyrac again, but Courfeyrac steps backwards again. And then he's gone, turning his back and shoving his way past the crowd.

Jehan's legs give in and he falls to his knees. He rearranges himself so that he's sitting with his back against the wall and his arms around his knees, where he remains until Combeferre spots him and calls Enjolras. Enjolras responds by telling Combeferre to go fuck himself, this was all his fault in the first place, and to bring Jehan back himself because he wasn't going back.

Courfeyrac grabs the nearest person he can find (after crossing all the way across the room of course)-a raven haired dark skinned beauty-and promptly shoves his tongue down her throat.

 

\---

 

When Combeferre shows up at Enjolras's door, Jehan is giggling and fiddling with the back of Combeferre's collar. Enjolras looks disgusted-he always looks disgusted-and takes Jehan by the hand to lead him back into the room. Before the door is shut, Jehan waves clumsily at Combeferre, who awkwardly returns the wave and an apologetic look mainly directed towards Enjolras.

Enjolras sits Jehan down on the edge of his bed and begins to untangle the poet's unruly hair-not because he liked playing with Jehan's hair of course, only because he didn't want to listen to Jehan bitch about how tangled his hair would be after sleeping on such a mess already.

Jehan giggles as Enjolras undoes the braid and takes a hairbrush to his hair. He giggles over and over, non-stop until he needs to pause to take several deep breaths and refill his lungs. He's acting like an idiot, but nobody important is around to care.

When he pauses though, his face falls and he simply stares straight ahead and Enjolras immediately understands. He tries to lean back and go to sleep on his bed, but Enjolras pushes him back up so he can finish unknotting Jehan's hair. He will NOT listen to Jehan's whining about his hair, especially combined with the inevitable hangover he was going to have tomorrow.

After Enjolras finishes brushing, he gives Jehan's hair one last comforting stroke with his hand, almost like an apology of sorts. Immediately, Jehan falls back onto his bed and rolls onto his side facing the wall. Enjolras sighs and walks around to at least remove Jehan's shoes.

While he's doing so, Jehan croaks. "I wish you had never introduced me to that dumb Courfeyrac."

Enjolras lets out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus Christ Jehan, I warned you he was a bastard. I didn't mean for you to go and fall in love with him."

_"I warned you he was a bastard I didn't mean for you to go and fall in love with him,_ " Jehan mockingly repeats. Then he sighs and rolls onto his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. "I always pick the bastards, don't I?"

Enjolras has no idea what the fuck he's saying.


	4. totally not a date

When Jehan orders without his usual radiant enthusiasm, Bahorel knows something is up. "Rough night?" He asks as he prepares the young poet's tea.

Jehan sighs deeply and nods. He leans forward on the counter and drops his head. "I'm never drinking again."

Bahorel lets out a snort. "If I had a dollar every time someone walked in here ordering tea and saying that exact phrase, I could drop out of school and start my own damn coffee shop."

He hands Jehan the tea, who takes it gladly and thanks Bahorel before flashing him a quick smile and heading off to his usual table. There wasn't any need to rush, his prose class had already started anyways and he wasn't about to humiliate himself by walking in late. His professor was also loud as fuck, and he really didn't want to be bothered with loud noises right now, so he'll just stay here and write poetry, thank you.

Speaking of loud noises, no sooner had Jehan finished the second stanza of a poem he was working on when the door burst open and two laughing figures waltzed into the café.

"Shut the fuck up," Bahorel screeches at them. "There are people here trying to recover from hangovers."

In response, one of the figures, a male, lets out another laugh before bringing a finger to his lips and letting out a "ssshh" directed towards the female beside him. The girl giggles back and repeats his actions.

When Jehan looks up, he immediately identifies the male as none other than Courfeyrac, which is just about the worst coincidence he could ever have imagined. He doesn't know who the girl hanging all over Courfeyrac is, but she seems to be drunk already.

Courfeyrac and his little friend stride to the counter, but when Courfeyrac lays eyes on Jehan, he freezes for a second. Their eyes meet, both of them initially startled until Jehan bows his head to stare at his journal, to which Courfeyrac snaps his head to Bahorel and orders a coffee for him and an éclair for the lady. With their order in hand, they make their way to a table near the window, where the female promptly sits on Courfeyrac's lap and begins making out with him.

Jehan can hear them. He tries to scribble in his notebook, but the words are interrupted by the sound of lips smacking and giggling. He glances up by mistake and tries not to bite through his own tongue. He knows this is what Courfeyrac does. What he is. Courfeyrac is not approachable. He is off limits.

And yet when Jehan sees her, he remembers how it felt to be kissed by Courfeyrac, no matter how drunk they both were. He wonders if Courfeyrac remembers too. Oh god, Jehan had said some pretty embarrassing things last night. He hopes Courfeyrac forgot everything oh god oh god.

Courfeyrac happily kisses the woman on his lap, ignoring Bahorel's threats to call the police for public indecency. Eventually however, he takes her hips and gently pushes her back. He whispers in her ear and she understands, quick to stand up before laughing again and giving him another quick peck on the lips (which Jehan sees too).

It's not until she's gone and out of view that Courfeyrac stands up and strolls leisurely over to where Jehan is trying to pretend like he's been working the whole time.

Courfeyrac drops a brown paper bag in front of Jehan's face. Jehan looks up like he's unsure of what to do. "It's an éclair," he tells Jehan, and Jehan grimaces. "I bought it for a friend of mine but she left before she could have it. Must have forgotten," here he laughs.

Jehan grits his teeth as he says "she seemed nice."

Courfeyrac simply shrugs.

Jehan says nothing when Courfeyrac takes the seat across him, and Courfeyrac says nothing back. He does, however, reach across the table for Jehan's notebook, as he usually does. This time though, Jehan is hesitant. When Courfeyrac grabs the book, Jehan grabs it firmly as well, as if prohibiting him. Courfeyrac shoots Jehan a shocked expression, which Jehan returns as he's quite surprised by his own reactions, before Jehan lets go of the journal and allows Courfeyrac to take it.

Silence fills the air as Jehan tries not to look at the dark-haired man in front of him but ends up doing so anyways. Courfeyrac looks really focused on whatever he was reading, he probably doesn't notice Jehan's awkward stares.

Courfeyrac startles him when he says without warning, "your hair looks good like that."

Jehan is taken aback, blinking several times in quick succession. He had woken up upset and in pain and did not feel like fixing-or even brushing his hair. He asked Enjolras to do it, but Enjolras snarled and refused, proclaiming he had done too much for Jehan the previous night. Jehan whined and clutched Enjolras's red hoodie sleeve and begged, but Enjolras yanked his arm free and left without another word, so Jehan had simply gathered his hair up into the laziest bun imaginable and called it done.

Jehan is about to say something when Courfeyrac continues. "Although, I must say I like the braid look much better."

Jehan cringes. So Courfeyrac does remember last night. Probably. Jehan is never going to braid his hair ever again.

Eventually, Courfeyrac slides the notebook back into Jehan's reach. "This one is sad. That's unusual for you."

"Yes well," Jehan takes the journal and begins to scribble in it again. "We can't always write happy things now can we?"

"If anybody could, it would be you."

At that, Jehan locks eyes with Courfeyrac again. He can't tell what Courfeyrac is thinking because his lips are pressed firmly together and his eyes remain completely neutral. It bugs Jehan for some reason. He tries to go back to his writing.

"Hey," Courfeyrac says suddenly, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Hey, Prouvaire, let's do something."

Jehan looks at him in annoyance.

"No seriously." Courfeyrac breaks into a grin. "I don't have class today, how about you?"

"I have a literature analysis class at noon, Courfeyrac."

"Screw it."

"What?" Jehan scoffs. "Courf, I'm not going to 'screw' my class, okay? I need to go. I like it anyways."

"I'll take you to a mooovviee," Courfeyrac says in a playful singsong voice.

" _No,_ " Jehan insists.

"I'll buy your ticket," Courfeyrac continues in his singsong.

" _Courfeyrac,_ " Jehan hisses.

"Popcorn," is Courfeyrac's final offer. "I'll buy you a whole bag of popcorn and you can eat the whole thing."

Jehan stares at him for a long time before he finally sighs, growing tired of look at Courfeyrac's dumb looking expression (he could never grow tired of looking at Courfeyrac). " _All right,_ " he groans, "Just for today," and he hates (loves) the way Courfeyrac practically bounces up and down in his seat.

"It was the popcorn that sold you wasn't it?" Courfeyrac grins. "I knew you were a glutton."

"Shut up," Jehan commands. "And _don't_ buy me any damn popcorn."

 

\---

 

Jehan thought he'd have to keep reminding himself that it's not a date. 'It's not a date,' he thinks to himself when Courfeyrac leads him out of the café. 'It's not a date, it's not a date," and Jehan believes he's going to be miserable the entire time.

By the end of the day, however, Jehan has no idea what he was supposed to be reminding himself. He has an absolute blast with Courfeyrac, so much so that Jehan forgets he's supposed to be hungover and miserable.

They watch some rom-com neither of them had ever heard of, and it was so not funny it was funny, and they laughed, and every once in a while Courfeyrac would lean in and whisper into Jehan's ear comments like "seems he's a little bit…tied up at the moment" or "she's either got a gun in her pocket or she's pleased to see him," stupid comments that were even worse than the jokes in the movie, but Jehan can't help but laughing anyways.

Afterwards, Courfeyrac grabs Jehan by the hand without even thinking and pulls him to a place down the street where they each buy a cone of ice cream and as they're walking, Courfeyrac tries to take a lick of Jehan's cone. Jehan laughs and pushes Courfeyrac's head away from him.

They walk aimlessly for a while after finishing their ice cream, talking about the weather and how stupid college is. They share school gossip and "I'm pretty sure my politics professor is pregnant" comments and sometimes Courfeyrac gets Jehan to recite a little bit of classic poetry.

"Do you ever read your poems?" Courfeyrac asks. "You know, out loud?"

Jehan blushes at that, though he doesn't know why. "No. They'd sound dumb said out loud."

Courfeyrac fakes a gasp. "You can't be serious. Your poetry was practically made to be said out loud!" And then he nudges Jehan's shoulder. "Read me one. You've got to have memorized one. Say it. Say it right now."

And after much protest, Jehan finally does. But it's in another language and Courfeyrac can't understand a damn word. He frowns and juts out his bottom lip in a pout. "You did that on purpose you little bastard."

Jehan just winks at him.

They spent quite a long time sitting on the curb of the street, engaging in more small talk, Courfeyrac taking out Jehan's bun and playing with Jehan's hair, and Jehan really wishes he had brushed it this morning.

Before today, Courfeyrac hadn't known how to braid. Jehan teaches him, and after a few practice runs Courfeyrac has successfully braided the length of Jehan's hair. Afterwards, Jehan hid tiny little braids all over Courfeyrac's hair and giggled as the dark-haired man struggled to take out every single one. After the ordeal, two braids remained, but Jehan couldn't bring himself to tell him, and so they stayed.

When evening falls, they head into a diner. Jehan just wants a chicken sandwich, but Courfeyrac decides it's a good idea to purchase the whopping full pound if-you-eat-it-all-it's-fee bacon burger just for shits and giggles he says (but really it's because he's running low on cash).

A tiny crowd gathers around them and Jehan watches in horror as Courfeyrac tries to take bite after bite. "Courf, you're going to kill yourself," he protests, but Courfeyrac insists he can do it.

"I'm going to have a heart attack," he eventually says with about ten huge bites left. "Oh god, I think I'm having one right now."

Jehan only crosses his arms over his chest. "I wouldn't doubt it." But he's smiling anyways.

In the end, it's Jehan's strange and sudden cheerleading that gets Courfeyrac to the finish line, swallowing the last of the burger and even licking his fingers clean before throwing his arms in the air triumphantly. His and Jehan's picture get tacked up on the pounder wall of fame, and then Courfeyrac slams his head into the table and groans like he's dying.

"Slow down Prouvaire," Courfeyrac moans, clutching his stomach, but Jehan just turns around and starts walking backwards at the same exact pace.

"You're an idiot," he says. "A real dumb idiot."

"So I've been told."

"Why the _hell_ did you do that?"

In response, Courfeyrac pulls his wallet out of his pocket and shows it to Jehan. It's empty, save for a few quarters and a dime.

Jehan halts in his tracks and actually looks guilty. "Courf…" he sighs. "You should have told me. You didn't have to pay for everything, I have money too." To prove it, he takes out his own wallet and removes a few bills, including at least two twenties, and holds it out for Courfeyrac to take.

Courfeyrac rejects it, waving his hand in dismissal. "I don't want your money, Prouvaire. I'll be on a tight budget for a while but I'm getting my allowance in a week or so, so I'm fine."

Jehan tries once more to hand the money over, but with no avail, so he tucks the bills back into his wallet and the wallet into his back pocket.

The stars are just barely beginning to peek out when they step foot back on campus. Courfeyrac leaves Jehan at the foot of his dorm building and they exchange small smiles.

"Thanks, Courf," Jehan says, fiddling with a loose strand of hair. "I actually had a lot of fun. It was almost worth blowing off lit analysis."

"Yeah," Courfeyrac nods. "Me too, Prouvaire."

And he's gone before either of them can say another word.

It's only when Jehan opens the door to his room that the entire day finally sinks into his stomach like a rock. He slumps past a confused Enjolras and sits on the edge of his bed, a hand over his middle, and he feels sicker than Courfeyrac probably felt after eating that damn burger.

It wasn't a date. It just wasn't a date. Today had been two platonic friends on an outing, watching a movie alone, stealing each other's ice cream, braiding each other's hair, and sharing a meal. Fuck.

And Courfeyrac is probably going to pick up a one night stand on the way home.

Jehan holds a hand over his mouth like he's going to be sick.

Enjolras notices. "The toilet is that way," he points in the direction of the bathroom.

"Enjolras you're an ass," Jehan moaned, sprawling out on his bed.

And then Enjolras clears his throat. "Are you…" he hesitates. "Are you going to be okay?"

Jehan props himself up on his elbows to smirk at his roommate. "Is the great Enjolras finally caring about something other than social justice?"

"Shut the hell up," Enjolras hisses, throwing a nearby pillow at Jehan's face. "Forget I even asked."

 

\---

 

Courfeyrac shifts through the contacts on his phone and ghosts over Jehan's name. He chickens out, however, and calls the next person on his list.

About five minutes later, a tall, lanky brunette boy shows up at his door already half naked. He peeks into the room and questions "where's Marius?"

Courfeyrac shrugs. "I think he's pretty much unofficially moved in with Cosette. Half his stuff is gone anyways so more room for me I guess. And for whomever I bring home." And he winks once before he leans forward to kiss the man square on the lips.

Halfway through intercourse, the brunette runs his hands through Courfeyrac's hair and freezes. "Couf?"

Courfeyrac groans. "What?"

"Why do you have braids in your hair?"

This time Courfeyrac freezes as well. _Jehan._


	5. someone gets harassed and it's not Jehan

Jehan and Courfeyrac catch each other in the café for the first time nearly two weeks later. They go through their routine; Courfeyrac snatches up and reads whatever Jehan is working on, they have a small conversation, and part ways.

four days later, they run into each other again, and after Courfeyrac reads Jehan's poems, he slips the poet a number. Jehan takes it and raises a confused eyebrow. "That's a dorm building," Courfeyrac explains. "Three days from now it's going to be a party zone. I heard there was going to be a slip-n-slide. You in?"

Jehan snorts, knowing perfectly well what happened during the last party. "No, Courf. Thanks for the offer."

"Ah come on," Courfeyrac pouts. "Nothing will happen. I won't even give you alcohol, I swear it."

His pout makes Jehan's heart skip a beat and he can't even remember how to pronounce the word 'no' so he just nods. "Okay."

The weather's been growing warmer. When Courfeyrac walks up to Jehan, the poet is sporting a thin, light purple long-sleeved V-neck and a pair of light blue jeans-hole free this time. His hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail and he's never looked gayer.

"You've never looked gayer," Courfeyrac snorts.

"Really cute, Courf," Jehan retorts.

They spend most of the evening in the same position they were in during their last party together, with Jehan backed against the wall and Courfeyrac in front of him, only Courfeyrac was the only one holding a beer this time. They engage in meaningless chatter, mostly mutually complaining about whatever song was currently playing.

At one point in time, they actually do end up on the slip-n-slide. Jehan is fully clothed when he slides down the slippery plastic, but Courfeyrac strips all the way down to his boxers. After about four or five turns, both of them are completely soaking wet and covered in carpet burn because that slip-n-slide really isn't as slippery as its name would suggest.

They're laughing with each other in their own soaked clothing when Enjolras walks up to them with a horrified expression on his face.

"Enj!" Jehan gasps. "Why are you here?"

Enjolras rolls his eyes. "I can't freaking study with all this noise so I was going to try to find whoever started this damn party and force him to shut down."

Courfeyrac slings a wet arm around Enjolras, who promptly shoves him away. "Ah come oh Enjolras, don't be like that. It's not our fault you're genetically incapable of having fun."

"I am not incapable of-oh my god."

All three of them watch in amazement as Joly screams the entire way down the slip-in-slide before scrambling back to his feet and telling everyone to move out of the way, he's going in again.

Enjolras is furious. "He's a pre-med student! How the hell does he have time for all of this nonsense?"

Jehan has to bit his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. He's also shaking, cold in his incredibly wet clothes.

Enjolras swears rather loudly before giving up and storming away from the crowd. Courfeyrac and Jehan exchange a round of laughter before Jehan excuses himself to find a bathroom and by association some towels to dry off in.

Jehan's hair is soaking wet. He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror and squeezes as much liquid from his hair as he possibly can. He then peels off his cold, wet shirt, crying out in disgust the entire time, and wrings it out in the sink. When he dries his torso off with a warm towel, he immediately feels so much better-but not until he seriously regrets taking off his shirt because now he'll never be able to get it back on. Putting on wet clothes is pretty much one of the worst feelings in the universe. It shouldn't matter anyways, about half the people outside weren't even wearing pants, much less shirts. So he focuses on drying his hair out as much as possible.

While staring at himself in the mirror, he can't help but smile. He really is having fun tonight. He's one hundred percent sober, and Courfeyrac has been distracting enough that Jehan hasn't even thought about him-which is a strange concept that seems kind of contradictory, but it works out in Jehan's mind.

He reluctantly takes his wet shirt out of the sink when he feels dry enough in his pants to move without walking funny and exits the bathroom half-naked.

When he peeks outside, Courfeyrac isn't near the slip-n-slide anymore. He must be inside.

Of course, ten thousand other students are also inside. Jehan scans the scene, but can't make out Courfeyrac's face in the crowd anywhere. Luckily, there is someone's face he recognizes.

"Bahorel!" Jehan calls out, walking up to the part-time barista. "Hey, have you seen Courfeyrac?"

"Uh…" Bahorel taps his chin with his index finger. He's so fucking drunk right now. And probably slightly high. Who knows. "I think he went upstairs?"

"Thanks," Jehan taps Bahorel's shoulder and walks to the direction of the stairs.

He should have known.

What else do people do upstairs during parties anyways?

Oh, young and naïve little Jehan, he should have known.

They weren't even in a room, though. They were just…there, right there in the middle of the hallway for everybody to see, both of them. He's just kneeling there on the ground, nuzzling against Courfeyrac's clothed crotch and Courfeyrac, back flat against the wall, is just standing there with a dazed expression and a hand fisted in short red hair.

They don't notice Jehan.

Jehan turns away, but he still hears Courfeyrac let out a long drawn out moan before he's running back down the stairs wishing he had known better. He should have known, he really should have.

As he runs back to his own dorm building, cold and wet shirt in his hand, cold and wet hair slapping him in the face, he tries to reassure himself that this is nothing new. This is Courfeyrac, after all, and Jehan knows what Courfeyrac does. Everybody knows. They just sort of accept it. Nobody dares to have the guts to pursue a long-term relationship with Courfeyrac because Courfeyrac is completely unapproachable.

Why is Jehan so upset? It's not like Courfeyrac was cheating on him or anything-they weren't even in a relationship. They'd never even gone on a date (that wasn't a date.)

Jehan throws the door open, making Enjolras nearly jump out of his seat at his desk. And he looks just about ready to cry.

Enjolras actually looks concerned. "What did he do?"

Jehan just lets out an exasperated sigh and sits cross-legged in the middle of his bed. "Enjolras, am I an idiot?"

Enjolras moves himself from his position to seat himself on the edge of Jehan's bed, looking the poet in the eyes. "Yes. Excruciatingly so."

Jehan lets out a disapproving moan and covers his face with his hands. Then he begins to cry.

"Hey," Enjolras tries to soothe him. "Hey, it's…okay." Except Enjolras sucks at sympathy. And advice. And overall consolation. Enjolras just sucks.

"I hate him," Jehan takes a pillow and throws it across the room as hard as he can. "I really fucking hate him."

Jehan throws a fit for a good few minutes and doesn't rest until all of the pillows and blankets and even bedsheets on both his and Enjolras's bed are strewn all over the floor (Enjolras will make him clean it up of course).

Then, Jehan officially loses himself. "I…" he begins. "I need…"

"What?" Enjolras asks. "What do you need? Water?"

Jehan shakes his head furiously.

"Dry pants?"

Well, yes. But no. Jehan shakes his head again.

"Then what?"

Jehan bites his lip.

"What?"

"Can I kiss you?"

_"What?"_

Jehan doesn't laugh or even smile. He looks completely sincere. Oh god he's freaking serious.

"You're delusional," Enjolras reasons. "It's late. Go to sleep."

"Please Enj," Jehan exhales, gripping onto Enjolras's sleeve. "Just tonight. Just this once. I know you don't…but please Enj, I need it. I need it so bad." He looks like a kicked puppy dog. But at least he isn't crying anymore.

Enjolras takes a deep breath and sits completely still. He does not move a single bone in his body. This is his way of voicing his consent.

Jehan's lips against his are soft, tender, and perhaps a little unsure. It isn't as disgusting as Enjolras thought it would be, but there obviously aren't any sparks flying or anything dumb like that.

Enjolras keeps completely still as Jehan leans into him, his hands on Enjolras's shoulders. Jehan moves his mouth over Enjolras's stone stiff lips, not caring if Enjolras is ever going to react or not.

Enjolras keeps his eyes closed the entire time and does not object to anything Jehan does, even when Jehan pushes him down onto the bed and climbs on top of him in his still semi-wet pants to kiss him deeper, harder.

He can hear Jehan choke back a sob, and then his lips are free. He feels Jehan's bodyweight disappear and he sits back up. As soon as he does so, he's getting smacked right across the face.

"What the hell?" He snaps, and he's startled to see Jehan staring at him in the worst way imaginable.

"No you, what the hell?" Jehan barks back, raising his hand as if to strike Enjolras again, but Enjolras throws up his own hands for self-defense just in case. Jehan grits his teeth and then lets his hand drop to his side. "Why do you always have to care about everybody but yourself?!"

Enjolras is completely shocked by Jehan's obviously rhetorical question.

And then Jehan draws his legs into his chest and buries his face in his knees. "How could you let me do that to you?"

"I told you that you could," Enjolras tried to assure him. "You didn't do anything against my will."

"You didn't want it," Jehan argued. "I don't know why I did that."

Enjolras sighs and gives his roommate an awkward pat on the back. "Go to sleep, Jehan. Get out of those pants and just go to sleep."

Jehan eventually scoots off the bed however reluctantly and turns towards his wardrobe to unbutton his pants and change into something soft and warm and most importantly, dry.

Enjolras pauses for a second before hopping onto his own bed, grabbing his phone, and sending a very angry text.

**Courfeyrac, I'm going to fucking kill you. -E**


	6. count the cliches

"He kissed me."

Courfeyrac snaps his head up to stare at Enjolras in shock.

"Just thought you'd like to know." Enjolras shrugs and takes a bite of his salad. They're both fresh out of world history class and taking a break in the nearest cafeteria. Enjolras is a hardcore vegan, so he spends most of his meal picking out each disgusting piece of shredded cheese on his plate. Courfeyrac was finished with his meal about ten minutes ago.

Courfeyrac snorts. "Why should I care who he kisses? It's not like we're together or anything."

Enjolras shoots him an annoyed glare. "Don't you want to know why?"

"Okay then," Courfeyrac smirks, resting his elbows on the table. "Why did the romantic poet Jean Prouvaire kiss a stuck-up liberalist virgin?"

Enjolras decides to let that slide, although he does grimace a bit. "It's because he hates you."

Courfeyrac almost laughs. "Oooh is that all?"

"Stop it," Enjolras suddenly snaps. "Stop acting all high and mighty. He saw you last night. He told me right before class. He saw some redhead about to give you a blowjob in the fucking hallway."

Courfeyrac is a bit taken aback. He leans away from the table and looks at Enjolras again, but his face is unsure, unsteady even. "So?" He retorts, but his voice cracks. "It's none of his business who I fuck. He knows I sleep around."

"You're an _idiot, Courfeyrac_ ," Enjolras growls. "He likes you. He's in love with you."

"You just said he hated me!"

"Oh my god." Enjolras wants to pull out his own hair.

"And why do you have to be the one to tell me this anyways, hmm?" Courfeyrac says, suddenly angry. "Prouvaire's a big boy, he can talk on his own."

In a flash, Enjolras is over the table with a fistful of Courfeyrac's shirt and Courfeyrac's eyes are wide, his mouth gaped open. "You don't understand," Enjolras snarls. "He was so scary last night. Jehan is calm and collected and sensible. He plays the fucking flute for God's sake, and he writes poetry and he keeps growing flowers on our windowsill. If you look up the word 'composed' in the dictionary, all it says is 'Jean Prouvaire,' and last night he fucking broke. His thought was completely irrational, he was the complete opposite of composed, and he _kissed_ me, and it's all your fault because you can't grow up and talk about your stupid little feelings. So you listen to me, Courfeyrac, because I'm only going to say this once. You're going to fix this. I don't care how you do it. Start a relationship with him, drop out of school and let him forget about you altogether, kill him and bury his body outside of campus, I don't care so long as it's over because I am _not_ fucking dealing with that again." He lets go of Courfeyrac's shirt with a shove and slides back into his own seat hoping he hadn't attracted too much attention. Luckily when he looks around, everyone else seems too busy in their own affairs.

Courfeyrac is completely stunned, his entire body frozen in shock for a solid minute before he finally closes his mouth. He stares straight ahead, but not at Enjolras in particular. He thinks about Jehan. Poor sweet Jehan, Courfeyrac's little flower, the only one he did not want to defile. He wanted to lock Jehan in a cage and keep him pretty and innocent. He wanted Jehan to write beautiful happy poetry and smile and constantly tuck that rebellious strand of blond hair behind his ear. He wanted to hear Jehan get passionate about everything he said, and see his bright eyes radiating all across the room. But Jehan was not writing happy poetry. He was not smiling or radiating light from anywhere. Courfeyrac had no idea it would come to this. Jehan, oh Jehan.

Courfeyrac stands up abruptly and leaves the table without saying a word.

Enjolras immediately forgets the entire conversation and spends the next ten minutes continuing to pick the cheese off his salad.

It starts raining in the early afternoon. Jehan gets caught in it after class and ends up soaking wet by the time he reaches the dorm. His immediate action is to head into the bathroom, strip completely, and take the warmest shower ever, because the best way to combat getting wet is by intentionally getting wet for some odd reason.

When he's nice and dry, he's still a bit chilly so he throws on a plain light-green sweater and slips into a pair of pastel pink jeans. Then he sits on the edge of his bed and contemplates what to do next. He has homework, but he doesn't feel like doing it. Not that anyone ever really feels like doing homework (Enjolras doesn't count) but still. So he grabs his poetry journal and revises an old poem.

As he does so, he hums. He knows he's oddly happy considering what happened last night, but he'd woken up anew, went to a class he liked, had a nice warm shower, and was now working on his poetry, so he really can't help but crack a smile. He tries not to think of Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac? Who is that?

Just as he finally settles down, however, the doorbell specific to his room rings from outside the dorm building. He's confused, not expecting anybody, and Enjolras is still at class so he shouldn't be expecting anybody either, but he sighs and climbs off his bed anyways.

When he opens the door, he immediately shuts it again.

He takes a deep breath, tries not to look shocked out of his mind, and slowly opens it again to reveal a very wet Courfeyrac standing outside in the pouring rain looking very, very miserable.

"Oh my god!" Jehan gasps.

"Oh my god is right," Courfeyrac replies. "Why the fuck did you slam the door on my face?"

"I…" Jehan stammers, but he can't even finish his sentence. "I…what are you doing here?"

"We need to talk."

"Do you…want to come in?" Jehan looks at him rather concerned. Courfeyrac does not look very happy in the rain. Then again, most people wouldn't be.

But Courfeyrac shakes his head. "No, it'll just make things harder. I just…" he takes a deep breath.

There's a very hesitant pause, and Jehan shoots him his best 'I'm waiting' face.

Courfeyrac wants to back out. He wants to turn around and run. Dropping out of school is suddenly becoming the most appealing solution. But he's looking at Jehan and all he sees is golden beauty. There's ink on Jehan's fingers-he was writing poetry. Courfeyrac wonders if it was happy or sad poetry. He can't bear to see Jehan writing sad poetry any longer.

It comes as a very startling surprise when Jehan is being dragged out of the building by the hand. He protests and shouts, but Courfeyrac is stronger than him and he ends up back in the rain again.

And then Courfeyrac grabs Jehan's face and kisses him.

Jehan makes a muffled noise of astonishment, but does nothing to stop Courfeyrac. Instead, after a few seconds of frozen shock, his own hands snake around the back of Courfeyrac's neck, fingers sliding into curly dark hair.

It's cold and wet and they're both soaked and chilled to the bone. Jehan won't stop shaking he's so cold, but his mind doesn't register his body's protests because it's not focusing on anything but kissing Courfeyrac.

It's such a tender kiss. Their first was rough and forceful, but now Courfeyrac strokes down Jehan's jawline over and over and moves his mouth over Jehan's slow and lazily. Jehan's fingers tremble around Courfeyrac's neck, it's so cold he can't even feel them, but he can still feel the softness of Courfeyrac's skin, of his hair. And maybe Jehan even prays. Please God, if this is a dream, may I stay asleep for all eternity.

Jehan breaks first, inhaling sharply and maintaining as close a distance to Courfeyrac as he possibly can without their lips touching. His fingers stay in Courfeyrac's hair and his body continues shivering, but he's practically grinning from ear to ear.

Courfeyrac continues stroking Jehan's face as he presses their foreheads together. Then he gives the poet a quick kiss on the nose-he's at the perfect height to do so after all- and asks "okay now?"

And Jehan leans forward to rest his head on Courfeyrac's soaking wet shoulder. "The world is full of stars but I am the sun, brighter than all the rest."

That's a line from one of Jehan's poem Courfeyrac had once read. And hearing the words straight out of the poet's mouth makes Courfeyrac's heart skip a couple beats.

"Courfeyrac?" Jehan says after a rather content sigh.

"Hmm?" the taller man responds, wrapping his arms around Jehan's back and pulling him close.

"You were right. Kissing in the rain really isn't as romantic as I thought it'd be."

When they're both inside, dry, and decent, they lay together on Jehan's bed side by side. The air is calm and they are at peace as Courfeyrac picks up a strand of Jehan's hair and twirls it, occasionally taking the lock to his mouth and kissing it.

"Courf?" Jehan asks rather softly, as if not wanting to disturb the quiet.

"Yes, my little poet?" Courfeyrac kisses Jehan's hair again.

Jehan hesitates. Courfeyrac notices and frowns a bit. "Listen…" Jehan sighs. "At that party, the first one we went to, you know, when you first kissed me…I said I wanted you. I said I wanted you, and that I didn't care if you slept around or spent the night with other people, but…I really don't think I could handle that. Not like this. Not now."

Courfeyrac's heart sinks in his chest. He remembers Jehan's words very clearly. They had hurt before, and they had hurt now. Jehan is the epitome of talent and beauty and it had hurt Courfeyrac to hear him say he would be okay if Courfeyrac still slept with others. That was not what Jehan deserved. He deserved someone who would love him wholeheartedly, and perhaps Courfeyrac did not yet know if he was able to do this, but dammit, he would try for his precious flower.

He scoots up closer to Jehan and plants a kiss on the top of Jehan's hair. "Jean," he whispers. "So long as I am with you, I will not touch another human being."

Maybe it was too big of a promise. Maybe both of them know that. But maybe it just doesn't matter quite yet.


	7. this chapter will give you diabetes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and enter the ExR

Jehan and Courfeyrac are sick. 

Lovesick, that is.

Neither of them had actually officially asked the other out. There was no “will you be my boyfriend” or love confessions, but they were now a couple, that much was clear to the both of them. And to the rest of the world.

Their first day in an established relationship, they walk to the campus café hand in hand, muttering to each other about trivial things. 

Bahorel doesn’t say anything when they ordered, but he knows immediately. 

Jehan opens his journal, but he does not write so much as he just giggles and talks to Courfeyrac in a low voice. Courfeyrac laughs as well, a warm smile on his face and his fingers fiddling with a corner of a page of Jehan’s book. Once in a while, their fingers would meet and Courfeyrac would stoke Jehan’s hand with his own. Sometimes their fingers intertwine, just for a brief second before darting off to go fidget around each other again.

Courfeyrac loves Jehan’s hair. He likes sitting on Jehan’s bed braiding his long hair while Jehan does homework. He likes twirling strands around his finger as they walk each other to classes. Courfeyrac even enjoys buzzing the doorbell early in the morning, catching Jehan off guard just in time to see him barely awake and with a severe case of bedhead. To be honest, Courfeyrac only does it to get the privilege of brushing Jehan’s hair.

Enjolras is disgusted. Which isn’t a very big surprise, but he’s also quite angry. It was all his fault really, he was the one who told Courfeyrac to fix it, but he honestly didn’t think the two of them in a relationship would be so bad. Then again, he should have realized it sooner. Jehan was a romantic and Courfeyrac had an incisive need to touch. They were perfect for each other, really. 

Sometimes Enjolras doesn’t mind. When Jehan is working, he doesn’t mind Courfeyrac coming over and doing whatever since they’re relatively quiet. It’s when Jehan has nothing to do and Courfeyrac has nothing to do that Enjolras can’t stand it because they spend the time giggling and whispering but in a small college dorm with poorly insulated walls, every tiny sound is heard and it’s quite distracting. 

Jehan hadn’t really hung out much at Enjolras’s social justice club. He really wasn’t much of a club person really, since most of them were pretty dumb and quite frankly childish, but he spends a lot more time there now because Courfeyrac is obviously a member. He actually finds himself participating a bit. Enjolras is a rather excellent speaker and Jehan finds himself agreeing with a lot of it. He has yet to see what else this club of Enjolras’s does to benefit anybody really, since it seems to just consist of Enjolras yelling and everyone hanging around doing nothing really. 

He doesn’t know why Grantaire is here. Grantaire hates everything and everyone and all he does is argue with Enjolras. They disagree on everything, mostly because they’re complete and total opposites. Enjolras is an idealist, Grantaire is a cynic. Enjolras believes in freedom from oppression, Grantaire thinks freedom is a made-up word. Enjolras believes there is hope for change. Hope is another made-up word to Grantaire. 

Then Jehan sees Grantaire one day, when Enjolras has his back turned. Jehan can see the emotions in Grantaire’s eyes and he suddenly understands completely. 

Enjolras is ranting again. He has beautiful words. He could be a poet, Jehan once pointed out, to which Enjolras snorted and said he’d leave the flowery language to Jehan.

“Poetry doesn’t have to be flowery,” Jehan had tried to explain once upon a time. “there’s a lot of morbid poetry out there, or vulgar stuff. Have you ever read Howl?” But Enjolras wasn’t listening. 

“Courf?” Jehan asks as he sits on the floor between Courfeyrac’s legs. He looks down and picks halfheartedly at a hangnail. 

“Jean?” Courfeyrac mimics him with a smile on his face. His arms are wrapped around Jehan’s waist, but they aren’t doing much besides simply being there. 

“Does ‘Taire like Enjolras?” He doesn’t sound very interested in the topic, but Courfeyrac knows he is anyways. Jehan is always interested in romance.

Courfeyrac rests his head on Jehan’s shoulder. “Grantaire doesn’t like anything.”

“He likes beer,” Jehan points out.

Courfeyrac tilts his head a bit in a shrug of agreement. 

“He likes Enjolras. That’s the only reason he’s here.” 

“Maybe he’s here for the free booze.” 

Jehan laughs a little. “That might be.”

“It would never work out anyways,” Courfeyrac says suddenly. “Those two. Can you imagine? They’d be the world’s worst couple.”

Jehan shrugs. “I bet the hate sex would be phenomenal.” 

Courfeyrac scrunches his nose at the idea. “As long as I don’t have to listen to them.” 

And Jehan laughs again and cranes his neck back. Courfeyrac helps him out by leaning forward and their lips meet in the middle.

If Enjolras and Grantaire would be the world’s worst couple, Jehan and Courfeyrac have to be the world’s cutest.


	8. awkward conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> also titled: Jehan and Courf finally do it

There’s a problem. 

Courfeyrac sleeps with everybody and anybody.

Courfeyrac does not sleep with Jehan, his _boyfriend_.

If Jehan didn’t trust Courfeyrac so much, he might have suspected that Courfeyrac was still sleeping with people behind his back. But Jehan did trust Courfeyrac. Perhaps too much.

They’re making out on Jehan’s bed while Enjolras is at a class, Courfeyrac lying straight on his back with his legs bent and his feet flat on the bed and Jehan leaning forward on top of him with legs on either side of Courfeyrac’s hips. Jehan’s hair falls over them both as they kiss long and lazily and Courfeyrac enjoys running his fingers through the long blond strands. 

Jehan then latches onto Courfeyrac’s jaw, planting petite kisses down the side of his face and nipping lovingly at Courfeyrac’s chin. Courfeyrac responds by sliding his hands up and down Jehan’s upper arms as encouragement as Jehan makes his way down to Courfeyrac’s neck, lips trailing down the tanned skin of Courfeyrac’s throat. 

Jehan pauses for a moment, with his lips pressed to Courfeyrac’s Adam’s Apple and simply stays there, unmoving, feeling the way the literal lump in Courfeyrac’s throat bobs up and down every time the dark-haired boy swallows. And Jehan sighs in content. 

Courfeyrac can feel Jehan’s fingers fidgeting with the waistband of Courfeyrac’s pants, however, and he grows nervous. When Jehan hooks a finger into the material, Courfeyrac is quick to grab Jehan’s wrists and slowly move them away from his pants. He hears Jehan’s little mewl of frustration, but when Courfeyrac brings those very wrists in front of his face and kisses the backs of Jehan’s hands softly, Jehan can’t help but smile. 

They’re still glued together at the lips in their exact same position when Enjolras returns home, and the idealist immediately lets out a vocal groan. The couple before him is slow to break apart, but Jehan eventually rolls off of Courfeyrac and while Enjolras tries to study (eventually he’ll give up and retreat to Combeferre’s) they simply whisper in each other’s ears and intertwine their fingers together.

 

\---

 

This time it’s Courfeyrac who’s up against the wall with Jehan overpowering in front of him.

They’ve retreated to the hallway outside of the clubroom since everyone in there is basically just arguing and shouting about PETA and now Courfeyrac has his arms wrapped around Jehan’s waist and Jehan rests his hands upon Courfeyrac’s broad shoulders as they kiss. Or at least try to. It’s really hard to make out when both parties keep breaking into a wide smile and giggling. 

When Jehan tries to slip his hands into Courfeyrac’s back pockets, however, Courfeyrac is grabbing forearms again and repositioning Jehan’s arms around Courfeyrac’s waist. 

Jehan breaks the kiss to stare Courfeyrac in the eyes. “Courf,” he breathes heavily, the disappointment in his voice very evident.

“Sssh, Jean,” is Courfeyrac’s soft response as he places his hands on the back of Jehan’s neck and lightly guides the poet’s head to his shoulder. Jehan makes no protest, and they stay there like that until the end of the meeting, wrapped up in each other, with Courfeyrac occasionally pressing gentle kisses to the top of Jehan’s head, pressing his nose to blond hair and inhaling Jehan’s scent deeply.

When the door opens, Jehan removes his head from Courfeyrac’s shoulder to watch the members file out into the hallway, noisy as ever. 

Enjolras emerges last, looking completely disheveled with his hoodie wrinkled and sporting uneven strings and a face as red as said hoodie. If Courfeyrac hadn’t known any better, he would have figured Enjolras had just gotten laid. But no, he was probably just finished screaming at the top of his lungs until his face turned red and yanking and pulling at his hoodie in frustration.

“Christ, Enj,” Courfeyrac exhales. “Did you guys have some sort of massive orgy in there?” 

Enjolras glares at the conjoined couple, his eyes wild and angry and his jaw tight. “Grantaire tore me apart,” he hissed with his hands balled up into fists. “Every piece of evidence I had, he had a rebuttal. He destroyed me!”

Jehan has to bit his lip to keep from laughing. He’d never tell Enjolras, but the idealist looked so ridiculous now, his physical form a mess as he lashed out in anger.

Then, Enjolras points an accusatory finger right at Courfeyrac’s face. “And _you,_ ” he snarls. “You’re supposed to be my right-hand man! Instead you’re sneaking off every meeting to go suck face with your boyfriend!”

“Jealous?” Jehan can’t help but smirk, squeezing Courfeyrac tighter. 

Enjolras simply rolls his eyes. It’s hopeless trying to chew those two out. Courfeyrac and Jehan are both just so lighthearted and carefree any insult directed towards them practically bounces off their heads and dissipates into the atmosphere. So Enjolras leaves and Courfeyrac makes out with his boyfriend for another solid fifteen minutes. 

 

\---

 

“Enj?” Jehan asks one night, dressed in soft pajamas and absentmindedly running a brush through his hair.

“What?” Enjolras responds from his desk, only really half listening because seriously, this book on religious intolerance is much more interesting. 

“How come Courfeyrac doesn’t want to sleep with me?”

Enjolras has an immediate coughing fit for a few seconds before he shuts his book and twists around in his chair to give Jehan the worst look he possibly can. “ _What?_ ”

Jehan simply shrugs as if it’s perfectly normal to discuss your sex life (or lack thereof) with your roommate at ten pm at night. “It’s just, it’s been nearly three months and he’s never even brought up the topic.” 

“I really don’t think we should be having this discussion.”

But it seems like Jehan isn’t paying attention because he just continues on as if his roommate hadn’t said a word. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve tried everything. Romantic movies, candlelit dinners, those tights jeans you told me not to wear unless I wanted to get molested, I’m about two steps away from renting a porn DVD for us to watch together.”

Enjolras scrunches his face in disgust. “Please don’t watch that in our room.” 

Jehan groans and sprawls himself out in his bed. “It doesn’t make any sense. He’s so sexually active and then he suddenly becomes celibate for three whole months?” And then a terrible thought dawns on him and he gasps as he sits back up. “Oh god. Oh my god, Enjolras, is he still sleeping around?”

“How the hell should I know?” Enjolras asks, rather annoyed by this whole conversation. He picks up a water bottle sitting on top of his desk for a quick sip. 

“What if he is?” Jehan is suddenly paranoid, chewing at one of his fingernails. “What if he’s still bringing people back to his room? It could be a new person every night. Are there even any new people? I mean by this time he’s probably slept with every person on campus besides me. I wouldn’t even be surprised if _you_ slept with him.”

Enjolras spits water all over the floor. 

Jehan shrieks. “Oh my god!” 

When Enjolras looks back at his roommate, Jehan is staring back at him with wide, paranoid eyes, his mouth gaped open and his entire face pale. 

“Oh my god _Enjolras_ , you _slept_ with him?!”

Enjolras can’t help but stare at his roommate guiltily. 

“You slept with him!” Jehan cries out in horror. It’s basically confirmed now. “But you don’t sleep with people! You’re…you’re…”

Before Enjolras can even open his mouth again, Jehan is flying into a rage of words. 

“He even slept with _you!”_ Jehan moans. “He really has fucked everybody except for me! Jesus Christ Enj, when? _When_?” 

“Calm down,” Enjolras tries to say. “It was just back in high school, Jehan, it was before I even met you. Trust me if I knew you back then I never would have, I swear! And we didn’t even have sex! I’m still a virgin! It was just…” He shifts awkwardly and lowers his voice as he stutters out “m-mutual handjobs. I was frustrated, I didn’t like feeling frustrated, Courfeyrac helped me. Just the once.” 

Jehan looks like he’s about to cry. He falls back onto his bed and sighs deeply. “Why?” He asks aloud, but to nobody. “What am I doing wrong?” 

“I…” Jehan’s sigh is contagious. “I think you should be talking to Courfeyrac about this, not me. And by that I mean, please don’t ever mention yours or Courfeyrac’s sex lives to me ever again.” And with that, he twists back around and continues his reading. 

_\---_

They’re sitting on Courfeyrac’s floor with Courfeyrac flipping through some sort of sports magazine and Jehan at his back with his thin arms wrapped around Courfeyrac’s bare waist (It’s really hot, Jean). It’s a peaceful, quiet evening. Marius’s side of the room is practically bare and according to Courf he hasn’t shown up in nearly two months so Courfeyrac practically has the room all to himself. 

Jehan lets out a low hum and snuggles up against his boyfriend, pressing the side of his face between Courfeyrac’s naked shoulder blades. He likes this, quiet times alone with Courfeyrac. They haven’t spoken to each other in over twenty minutes but the air hasn’t become awkward at all. They understand each other like this, and they’re simply happy to be in each other’s company. 

Eventually though, Courfeyrac notices Jehan is getting antsy. The poet keeps drawing insignificant patterns into Courfeyrac’s skin with his fingers, pressing his lips against Courfeyrac’s shoulder blades, nuzzling his nose into the back of Courfeyrac’s neck. Courf doesn’t mind. It feels nice, and Jehan seems happy, so he doesn’t think too much about it. 

He encourages it when Jehan climbs up and reaches around to plant tiny kisses all over the back and sides of Courfeyrac’s neck, even going so far as to nip the skin occasionally. 

Jehan throws his arms over Courfeyrac’s shoulders to slide his hands down Courfeyrac’s chest and continues his ministrations, and Courfeyrac does not refuse him. 

That’s when Jehan leans forward, gently grazes his teeth over the back of Courfeyrac’s ear, and then whispers “Courf, I’m hard.” 

Jehan feels Courfeyrac’s shoulders stiffen and his hands immediately grab Jehan’s wrists to stop all activity. “Jean,” he exhales. “Please.” 

Jehan is beyond frustrated. “Why not?” He retreats his arms back to his side. There’s a moment of silence, and then Jehan speaks again, his voice low and hesitant. “Are you…” He swallows deeply, not sure if he wants to ask the question, but wanting to know the truth more than anything. “Are you still sleeping around?” 

“Jean,” Courfeyrac tries again, spinning around this time to face his boyfriend straight on. He takes Jehan’s hands in his and gives them a firm squeeze. “I said I wouldn’t.” 

“Then why?” Jehan asks again in desperation. “Why won’t you sleep with me? I mean, you’ve slept with pretty much every one else.” 

“That’s exactly it,” Courfeyrac cuts him off in an attempt to explain himself. “It’s because I’m such a whore.” 

Jehan gives him a strange look. “I’m…not following.” 

Courfeyrac sighs and lets go of one of Jehan’s hands to tuck a loose strand of blond hair behind his ear. “I know I have a bad reputation of having sex with anything with two legs. That’s why…that’s why I couldn’t just take you, Jean. I wanted to prove to you that I’m done with that life now. I wanted you to know that you’re my special little poet. I didn’t want you to think that you were just another one of my conquests, like my whole goal was to be able to brag that I managed to sleep with the poet Jean Prouvaire.” 

Jehan listens attentively and allows Courfeyrac to brush his hair back behind his shoulder. Then he exhales and cracks a small smile. “Is that all? Well that’s a relief.” 

“What?” 

Then Jehan gives a short laugh. “Here I thought you were just cheating on me with the entire campus.” Courfeyrac doesn’t seem to find this funny. But Jehan continues anyways, reaching out a hand to stroke Courfeyrac’s cheek lightly. “Oh Courf, I’ve never felt like one of your conquests. You’ve been so good to me. Too good, perhaps. Baby I’m not as delicate as you think. I want you. And I don’t care about your reputation. All that matters is right here and right now, so screw the past. When it comes time for the snake to shed, will he ever remember his old skin?” 

Courfeyrac laughs at Jehan’s obscure metaphor and leans forward to rest his forehead against Jehan’s. Then, for the first time in their relationship, he whispers “I think I’m in love with you.” 

Jehan’s heart flutters and he breaks out into a huge grin. Then he gives his boyfriend a quick peck on the lips and says “and I think I’m in love with you,” before sliding a hand up the back of Courfeyrac’s neck and whispering into his head “now, will you take me to bed?” 

Courfeyrac doesn’t need to be told twice. 

_\---_

Courfeyrac lays Jehan down and ravishes his entire body, running his lips up and down the entire surface of Jehan’s skin, kissing down each of his arms to the fingertips and down each of his legs to the ankles-he would have kissed Jehan’s feet if the poet hadn’t been giggling every time he tried. 

Jehan thinks sex is beautiful. Such a powerfully uniting act of intimacy can create bonds between a couple that are nearly impossible to separate. He watches Courfeyrac practically worship his body and it is the both the most alluring and most erotic thing he had ever seen in his life. Courfeyrac’s touch is electricity rushing through every vein in Jehan’s body and he loves it so. When their bodies are pressed so tightly together, they are closer than they have ever been to each other and Jehan can practically feel Courfeyrac’s heartbeat through both of their chests. 

Jehan, Courfeyrac soon realizes, really is not as delicate a flower as he had initially assumed. It’s not long before Jehan takes control, rolling so that he is sitting with Courfeyrac beneath him. Jehan is slow to unzip Courfeyrac’s jeans, fingers toying with the material and the tanned skin underneath, to the point where Courfeyrac becomes frustrated and guides Jehan’s hands himself. 

They make love. Courfeyrac had never really made love before. He had fucked, he had had sex, but this was something completely new. To Courfeyrac, sex was just a way to pass the time. A fun way to resolve stress, tension, frustration, anger, etc. etc. He had never wanted to explore every part of his partner’s body or whisper love confessions or simply stopped in the middle of the whole thing, taking a moment of silence to just stay there and hold someone. So in a way, Jehan is still special, still separate from all of Courfeyrac’s conquests, because he is the only one Courfeyrac has ever made love to. 

When it’s over, Courfeyrac rolls off of Jehan’s body to breathe for a second before grabbing Jehan by the shoulders and pulling the poet into his chest. Jehan allows himself to be held, taking the opportunity to plant small kisses all over Courfeyrac’s sweaty chest. He snuggles into Courfeyrac’s chest and whispers as soft as possible “thank you.” 

In response, Courfeyrac simply squeezes Jehan tighter. 

They fall asleep like that without saying another word to each other. 


	9. OOC Grantaire like whoa

When Courfeyrac awakes, there is no sleeping body beside him, but a depression in the mattress where a body had been not too long ago. Courfeyrac rubs his eyes and lazily rolls to the side to discover Jehan sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but a pair of cotton pajama pants looking nervous and chewing on a nail. 

Courfeyrac scoots closer and, still lying down, wraps his arms around Jehan’s bare waist and presses lazy kisses to Jehan’s back. Jehan has freckles on his back, Courfeyrac notes as he makes it a game to kiss every one. “What is it, my little poet?”

Jehan seems to be completely indifferent to his boyfriend’s ministrations as he looks down to stare at his feet on the floor. “Nothing,” he lies.

Courfeyrac is not convinced. He frowns against Jehan’s skin. “You don’t regret it, do you?”

At that, Jehan lets out a tiny scoff. “What? No, of course not. Last night was…” he exhales deeply. “Last night was amazing. Thank you, Courf.”

“Then what?” Courfeyrac insists.

Initially, Jehan just sits there silently chewing on the inside of his own mouth. He fumbles with his fingers and keeps his gaze directed towards his feet. He opens his mouth and closes it a few times, as if unsure how to go about saying whatever it was he wanted to say, which was quite rare for a man with such a talent for words. 

“Jean,” Courfeyrac whines. 

Jehan presses his lips into a tight line before he speaks. “The last time I had sex…” he hesitates. “He walked out.” 

This seems to be enough reason for Courfeyrac to push himself up into a sitting position. “What?” 

Jehan gives a short laugh like he’s in disbelief. “Nearly two years ago, when I was a sophomore. He was a new employee at my dad’s office. I thought I was in love. We dated for two months. I thought everything was going fine. Then he finally slept with me and…left. He was gone the next morning. I never saw him again.” 

“Jesus, Jean,” Courfeyrac exhales sharply, placing a hand at the spot where Jehan’s neck met with his collarbone in some attempt at moral support. 

Jehan looks up now, eyes blinking at the ceiling. “I don’t know why. Maybe he was guilty because I was so young. Maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I was just bad in bed. Either way, I didn’t care. I told myself that I didn’t care if he fooled around with other people as long as I could be close to him. I tried telling him that over the phone. He never answered.” 

Courfeyrac rubs gently up and down the side of Jehan’s neck. “You’re worried.”

Jehan lets out a tsk and denies it. “Of course I’m not worried.” 

“You are,” Courfeyrac insists. “You’re worried I’m going to leave you.”

Jehan gives another small chuckle and leans his head back into Courfeyrac’s chest, reaching up to cover Courfeyrac’s hand with his own. “You’re here right now, aren’t you?” 

And Courfeyrac can’t do much but return the smile and kiss him. 

Truth be told, Jehan really isn’t worried about Courfeyrac leaving. It was a fleeting memory, nothing more. He was never really worried, he doesn’t think. Still regardless, Jehan couldn’t care less. Courfeyrac is here right now, and that’s all that counts.

 

\---

 

“So I think we should just organize a protest,” Enjolras decides. “Try to get students to boycott the cafeteria meats until the school council agrees to buy from providers who _don’t_ abuse their animals.”

Courfeyrac almost chokes on his own laughter. 

“What?” Enjolras snaps at him. 

“Enj, you’re a _vegan_ , nobody’s going to listen to you in the first place!” 

Jehan, who is sitting on Courfeyrac’s lap, only shrugs in agreement.

Then, in a strange turn of events, a voice rises from the back of the room. “I think that’s a great idea!” 

All heads turn toward Grantaire, who is beaming like an idiot and holding a bottle of beer in each hand. Everyone is completely baffled at Grantaire’s sudden outburst, especially since he was actually agreeing with something Enjolras had said. Speaking of which, from up at the front of the room, it is probably Enjolras who looks the most surprised. So much so that he actually stutters as he says “s-s-so there! Yeah! Protest!” 

Not so surprisingly, while Grantaire seems to accept the project, he does not seem to want to take part in the actual planning. 

When the meeting ends, only three people remain. Courfeyrac and Jehan stay behind, Courfeyrac insisting he cannot leave until he has finished braiding Jehan’s hair. The third is Grantaire, whose excuse for staying is to search for more booze to bring back to his dorm. 

The room is completely silent, each person too busy with their own affairs to interact, when Jehan speaks. “Taire?” 

Grantaire does not halt in his tracks as he responds “hmm?”

“You really don’t think this protest is a good idea, do you?”

At that, Grantaire scoffs. “Are you kidding? It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Jehan smirks. “I figured.”

Silence falls again. 

This time, it is Grantaire’s turn to break the quiet. “Hey…Prouvaire? Enjolras is your roommate…what does he like? I mean, besides social justice and yelling.”

Jehan laughs. “Well, he certainly doesn’t like drinking.”

Grantaire’s face falls. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

At that moment, Courfeyrac gives Jehan a small kiss on the shoulder. “I’m done babe, we can go now.” 

Jehan smiles and cocks his head to the side. “Oh I’m not sure I want to get up now, Courf. I’m so comfortable.”

“Get up,” Courfeyrac says. “Or I’ll have to carry you through that door.”

Jehan raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat? Because if so, it’s not a very good one.” 

Instead of responding, Courfeyrac simply squeezes tight around Jehan’s middle and blows raspberries into Jehan’s collarbone, eliciting squeals and laughter from the poet as he tries to kick his way out of Courfeyrac’s grasp. 

Grantaire twists his face up in disgust as he watches the scene. “You two are the reason I hate the entire world.” 

Neither Courfeyrac nor Jehan seem to listen or even care.


	10. Courfeyrac doesn't even really show up in this chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> to put it bluntly. 
> 
> a short ExR interlude

Now that Courfeyrac knows how great sex with Jehan is, he’s reverted back to his old flirtatious ways. He slips his hand into Jehan’s back pocket and deliberately licks long, sensual trails up his neck in public and whispers obscene things into his ear until Jehan’s entire face turns pink. 

Everyone is surprised when Grantaire shows up to the next meeting without a bottle in hand. Everyone is even more surprised when he does not head straight towards the beer fridge to retrieve one. Well, perhaps not everyone. Jehan and Courfeyrac exchange amused glances. 

It’s cute, really, seeing Grantaire try to get sober because he knows Enjolras doesn’t like drunks. It’s adorable to watch him try to agree with practically everything Enjolras says despite believing in the total opposite. It is a little strange to see Grantaire suddenly acting like this, but perhaps he’s simply had enough of this unrequited love. 

Enjolras is completely baffled, but he doesn’t say anything. He concludes the meeting by reminding everybody that there is still hope to change people’s minds, and Grantaire, who before now had not even believed in the word, stands up and gives a round of applause. 

Enjolras brings up the subject later that night while he’s studying. “Do you think Grantaire was acting a bit…different at today’s meeting?” he asks.

Jehan looks up from his poetry journal and cocks his head to the side. “How do you mean?”

Enjolras shrugs and buries his nose in his textbook. “I don’t know. Just different, I guess.”

“Well,” Jehan starts. “He certainly seems more enthusiastic.”

“That’s exactly it,” Enjolras agrees. “He’s never enthusiastic about anything-unless it’s arguing with me. Which brings up another point. Why is he doing that? The bastard and I haven’t seen eye to eye since the beginning-I don’t even know why he bothers showing up for meetings-, and suddenly this? He hates me!” There’s a moment of hesitation in Enjolras’s voice. “He’s supposed to hate me.”

Jehan raises an eyebrow and cocks half a smile before diverting his eyes back to his poetry. “You could always ask him.”

Enjolras snorts. “Like hell.”

“Then I guess you’ll never know for sure.”

Enjolras tries to concentrate on his studying, but every so often he reflects back on what Jehan had said. Grantaire was certainly an enigma. And Enjolras did want to find out what the hell was wrong. But he didn’t want to ask Grantaire flat out. Then again, it might be the only way. 

Enjolras shakes his head furiously, furrows his eyebrows, and thinks about nothing but politics for the rest of the night. 

 

\---

 

“Are you dying?”

Grantaire spits out a mouthful of iced tea (iced tea? Really?) and promptly begins to choke from where he’s seated on the couch. When he looks up at Enjolras, the blonde-haired leader of the social justice club stares back at him with the most concerning serious look Grantaire had ever seen. He tries to clear his throat, coughs once more, and croaks out “what?”

Grantaire was always among the last to leave meetings. Perhaps he liked the quiet of the empty club room. Maybe he just liked to sit and drink a little while longer. Who knew? Today, Enjolras had stayed behind as well, determined to get to the bottom of this after nearly a week of agonizing contemplation, during which he had developed some pretty radical theories. Truthfully, Grantaire on the verge of dying was probably one of the most realistic. 

“Do you have like some…” Enjolras hesitates. “Terminal illness or something?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Is Grantaire’s response. 

“This…thing you’re doing.” Enjolras waves his hands around in a randomized pattern. “The whole thing where you’ve quit drinking and you don’t yell at me anymore. Is that it? What, you drank too much and now you have some sort of liver condition?”

At first, Grantaire only stares with his eyes hardly blinking and his mouth gaped wide open, kind of like Courfeyrac in math class. Then he figures out what Enjolras is babbling about and he laughs. He actually laughs, loud and hard and long until it hurts so much he wraps his arms around his stomach, and even then he can’t seem to stop laughing. 

Enjolras looks positively offended. “Stop that,” he hisses. He does not appreciate being laughed at. No, not at all. 

But Grantaire doesn’t stop. He continues laughing, and he laughs until he chokes again, and even as he tries to calm himself he lets a few more soft chuckles escape. Then he takes a deep breath and shakes his head in disbelief. Above him, Enjolras still looks pretty angry, and it makes Grantaire snort one last time. “Oh fearless leader,” Grantaire begins, breaking out into a wide, mocking smile. “Trust me, if I were dying, you would never notice.” 

“So you’re not?” Enjolras asks as if he’s still unsure. 

Grantaire shrugs. “Well I mean we’re all technically dying. From the moment we’re born we start to die, but no, Enj, I don’t have liver cancer.” 

Enjolras does not look in the least bit relieved. “Then why…why the sudden change in behavior?”

Nodding once, Grantaire stands himself up so that he’s practically eye to eye with his unrequited love-and hardly three inches away. Enjolras looks startled by this movement, but he does not pull away, much to Grantaire’s surprise. The closed distance between the two allows Grantaire to lean forward just slightly, so that his lips are practically brushing against Enjolras’s ear. “If you really want to know, my dear Apollo, why don’t you show up at my room tonight. Say, nine o’clock?” 

Grantaire’s soft voice at Enjolras’s ear makes the leader shiver as if he’s chilled. He parts his lips as if to say something, but his entire body freezes and he can’t seem to make his mouth work. And then, just as he’s about to compose himself, Grantaire is stepping away. 

They stare at each other for what seemed to be a few minutes but in reality could not have been more than a few seconds. 

Then Grantaire slips away, brushing gently across Enjolras’s side as he departs. 

Grantaire does not look back. Enjolras’s heart skips a beat.


	11. the chapter in which everyone gets laid including Obama

“Is there anything different about me?” Enjolras asks, spinning around in his chair to face his roommate.

  
Jehan looks up from his book and stares blankly for a moment. After a while, his face twists into confusion and he promptly shakes his head. “No?” He answers.

  
Enjolras frowns. “Really? Nothing? Nothing at all?”

  
“Should there be?” Jehan isn’t exactly sure where this conversation is supposed to be headed. Enjolras looks exactly the same as he usually is, a serious expression plastered on his face, his eyebrows in that practically permanent furrow. Jehan squints, but he can’t find anything, not even evidence of a trivial haircut.

  
Enjolras stares at Jehan in disbelief for a moment. Then he speaks, his voice soft and practically whispered. “I got _laid_ last night.”

  
Now that, Jehan had not been expecting. He drops his jaw and widens his eyes at Enjolras, his reading book fallen and abandoned in his lap. “By _Grantaire_?” He almost shouts.

 

Enjolras is taken aback. “Wait, how did you know?”

  
At that, Jehan slaps a hand over his own mouth, partly because he’s surprised he’s actually correct and partly because he knows he shouldn’t have said anything.

  
But the damage is done. Enjolras suddenly rises with fury. “You knew? And you didn’t bother to say anything to me? Jehan, I made a fool out of myself! I thought he had cancer!”

  
“That’s not how these things work!” Jehan tries to defend himself. “If I had interfered it would have ruined the whole thing and-wait, did you say you thought he had cancer?”

  
Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” He glares when Jehan tries so very hard not to laugh. Then his expression softens. “Do I really not look like it?”

  
“What, like you just had sex?” Jehan confirms. “Not at all. What did you expect, light radiating from every part of your body and a hovering neon sign?”

  
“Well, I can always tell when you’ve had sex,” Enjolras points out, and it’s Jehan’s turn to look taken aback. “Like today, for instance. You always look at least ten times happier than normal and you always hum. Well, plus you’re still wearing Courfeyrac’s shirt, which is gross by the way.”

  
Jehan looks down at himself. It’s true, he’s dressed in a grey hoodie that obviously doesn’t belong to him. It’s big and baggy and practically falling off his shoulder, but it’s also warm and comfortable and smells like Courfeyrac. He hugs himself around the waist as he sighs and responds “well, I’m sure Obama gets laid, and you can never tell then, can you?”

  
Enjolras wrinkles his nose in disgust. He doesn’t know why he ever tries having a conversation with Jehan.

  
But Jehan isn’t done talking yet. He flops onto his stomach, elbows lifting his head up and a huge grin spread wide across his face. “So what happened?”

  
“What?” Enjolras asked, confused.

  
“Oh come on, tell me.”

  
Enjolras rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing to tell. I showed up at his door and he kissed me-which was really unexpected. Then he apologized and I was going to leave, but he said we had to talk. So we did. And then…other stuff.”

  
“So you two are like, dating now?”

  
Enjolras hesitates. “We’re going to an art gallery this weekend.”

  
Jehan smirks. “Sex and then the first date. A bit backwards, isn’t it?”

  
“Well sorry my love life isn’t one of your romance novels, Jehan,” Enjolras sneers accusingly.

  
Jehan shifts on his bed so that he’s a bit more comfortable and continues grinning. “So how was it?”

  
“ _What_?”

  
Jehan gives a slight chuckle. “Come on Mr. No-Longer-A-Virgin. Talk to me. Was it good? Did you do it twice? Who topped?”

  
Enjolras throws a pen at his face and snaps out “you’re _disgusting_.”

  
But then Enjolras sits and contemplates the whole ordeal. The memories are still fresh in his mind. It had been slow, deliberate. Grantaire knew what he was doing, Enjolras did not, but Grantaire did not laugh or patronize him. After removing each article of clothing, Enjolras would scream for Grantaire to stop, and the cynic would, and he’d whisper kind words into Enjolras’s ear until Enjolras could catch his breath and become calm enough to continue.

  
There was a lot of kissing. Grantaire seemed particularly fond of Enjolras’s neck. They spent long minutes just wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing, and even after it was over, they kissed and kissed and kissed until they both were on the verge of fainting.

  
Just before drifting into sleep, Enjolras mumbled against Grantaire’s shoulder, “you don’t have to change, you know. For me.”

  
There had been a pause, and then Grantaire let out a giant sigh of relief, responded “thank god,” and immediately slipped out of bed, only to return with a bottle of beer in his hands and Enjolras honestly wanted to take his statement back.

 

\---

 

Nobody else notices. Courfeyrac knows, because Jehan will tell his boyfriend everything, but beyond that, there isn’t a single clue.

  
Grantaire is back on the bottle and everything is back to normal. He keeps quiet during meetings and does not once make eye contact with Enjolras. They don’t touch each other or even speak beyond what they used to.

  
On the other hand, Jehan and his boyfriend have yet to stop touching each other all meeting. Courfeyrac sits on the couch with Jehan beside him, long legs comfortably across Courfeyrac’s lap. Jehan is doodling little hearts and scribbling out couplets all up and down Courfeyrac’s arm and with his opposite hand, Courfeyrac strokes up and down Jehan’s light green floral skinny jeans.

  
“Stay still,” Jehan whispers, upset that Courfeyrac is being so fidgety because it’s really hard to draw symmetrical hearts, let alone on a human body, especially if that human body keeps on moving.

  
Courfeyrac laughs and says “all right babe,” pressing a small kiss to Jehan’s nose. Jehan doesn’t even react, too immersed in his pen work.

  
“Hey,” Enjolras snaps. “Jehan, Courfeyrac, maybe if you two would stop touching each other for _one goddamn minute_ we’d be able to get some work done!”

  
Courfeyrac does not enjoy being disciplined, so instead of obeying, he takes his hands and rubs them all over up and down and around Jehan’s legs, his eyes glaring at Enjolras as if trying to prove a point, as if saying that no, he will not stop touching his boyfriend.

  
Of course, Jehan is more upset because he can’t finish his couplet if Courfeyrac won’t keep his damn arm still.

 

\---

 

They’re silent as they walk back to Courfeyrac’s dorm hand in hand.

  
Then, Jehan speaks. “Courf?”

  
“Mmm?” is Courfeyrac’s answer as he rubs tiny circles into the back of Jehan’s hand with his thumb.

  
“We’re graduating soon.”

  
“Mmm-hmm.”

  
Jehan turns his head to look at Courfeyrac. “What are we going to do?”

  
Courfeyrac in turn looks up at the sky. “Well, I’m going to law school. I guess we could find a small apartment near the university and-,”

  
“Wait,” Jehan interrupts him.

  
Courfeyrac snaps his head to Jehan. “What?” But when Jehan hesitates too long, he speaks again. “You don’t want to move in with me?” He asks, rather surprised.

  
“It’s not that,” Jehan tries to reason. “It’s just…” he sighs. “I want to get published.”

  
Courfeyrac makes a small nod and lets out an “ah” as if he suddenly understands.

  
He sees Jehan’s cheeks flush with color. “Is that stupid?”

  
“Are you kidding?” Courfeyrac scoffs. “I bet once your work gets out you’ll have publishers crawling over on their hands and knees, groveling at your feet begging you to join them.”  
Jehan laughs.

  
Then the mood grows serious again.

  
Jehan bites his lip nervously. “I just…it’s fine now, what we’re doing. I can write whatever I want whenever I want. But if I get serious about this there’s going to be deadlines and I’m just going to be a novice, they could kick me out in a flash and…”

  
“No distractions,” Courfeyrac finishes for him.

  
Jehan nods. “No distractions. Just for a little while, though. Like a year, maybe even less. Just until I get used to it, you know?”

  
Courfeyrac is silent as he nods.

  
“Are you…” Jehan swallows. “Are you mad at me?”

  
In response, Courfeyrac gives Jehan’s hand a tight squeeze. “Babe, I don’t think I could ever be mad at you.”

  
So Jehan, perfectly content with his life, smiles warmly and leans against Courfeyrac’s arm as they walk side by side.


	12. One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter in which nothing important happens

It’s been a year.

A year ago, Courfeyrac would never have even dreamed of sustaining a long-term relationship. He liked fresh new faces and the feeling of being free and un-committed. The thought of being tied down, forced to stare at the same face over and over, was not very appealing.

And yet, as he stares at Jehan’s face now, soft and delicate in the morning light, he can’t get enough. He wants to stare at Jehan’s sleeping form forever, to run gentle fingers down bare pale arms, to hold that body against his own forever and ever. He could never get sick of Jehan, he tells himself.

A year ago, Jehan couldn’t picture himself with a guy like Courfeyrac. A man who, on the outside, seemed so chaotic and distant from the world, who bounced from person to person without a single care in the universe. Jehan had always wanted to settle with a mature man who knew his place in the world. Never before had he ever thought he could fall in love with someone so wild and free, and even as he slowly came to terms with his feelings towards Courfeyrac, he was sure he would not be able to hold him. Courfeyrac was fire, and it’s impossible to capture and tie down a flame.

And yet, here they are, the free bird and the wild fire, tangled around each other like there won’t be a tomorrow.

Jehan awakes to the feeling of something brushing against his cheek. He flutters his eyelashes to see that it’s Courfeyrac gently stroking his face with the back of just one finger. He smiles at Jehan, and Jehan smiles back.

“Good morning, beautiful petal,” Courfeyrac whispers.

Jehan snuggles into his boyfriend and breathes in Courfeyrac’s scent. “Morning,” he sighs in content.

“Do you know what today is?”

At that, Jehan grins even wider and gives Courfeyrac’s collarbone a short kiss. “I thought I was going to have to remind you.”

“Are you kidding? How could I ever forget?”

They don’t technically have an anniversary. They never actually officially said they were going out. Nobody asked the other to be their boyfriend, it just sort of happened and their romantic relationship was just sort of accepted by everyone. It seems clear to them though, that they’re both on the same page in recognizing the day both their lives changed. It was, after all, a year ago from today that Courfeyrac showed up to Jehan’s doorstep soaking wet and shaking from the cold, and a year ago from today their mutual attraction was realized. A year ago from today, Courfeyrac had vowed to throw away his flirtatious methods in favor of making Jehan as happy as possible.

Courfeyrac leans in to kiss Jehan, but the poet draws away. “Nooo,” Jehan groans. “My breath smells.”

Courfeyrac only laughs and tries again, nuzzling at Jehan’s nose and pressing their lips together. “You’re never going to get away from me” he mumbles against Jehan’s mouth.

They kiss lazily for a minute before Jehan gets really self-conscious and has to excuse himself to go brush his teeth. Courfeyrac watches in amusement as Jehan slides out of bed and walks towards the bathroom in nothing but a pair of boxers (which belong to Courfeyrac, by the way). Jehan’s back is paved with freckles, and it reminds Courfeyrac that he still hasn’t counted them all. Jehan keeps distracting him when he tries, and then he loses count and can’t remember if he counted that freckle before, and then he gives up for the night.

Jehan disappears through the door for a minute and Courfeyrac can hear the sink running. He rolls onto his back, stares up at the ceiling, and closes his eyes to the sound of the water.

A moment later, Jehan pops his head out from behind the door. “I’m taking a shower, Courf,” he announces.

“Mmm-hmm,” Courfeyrac acknowledges without opening his eyes.

“You want to come?” Jehan offers.

Courfeyrac had never gotten out of bed quicker.

 

\--- 

 

They don’t have sex in the shower. That would have been terrible and cramped and quite frankly, dangerous.

Instead, Courfeyrac presses his front to Jehan’s back and runs soapy hands down Jehan’s arms as slowly as possible. Simultaneously, he keeps his lips to Jehan’s neck, sometimes pursing them to plant gentle kisses and even a couple nips, but mostly he just keeps his mouth still, just there, pressing against soft pale skin.

Jehan cranes his head to the side in order to elongate his neck, offering as much as himself as possible to the man at his back. When Courfeyrac slips his hands around Jehan’s waist and tenderly bites at his collarbone, Jehan lets out a soft but drawn-out moan and closes his eyes.

Soon Courfeyrac is scrubbing shampoo into Jehan’s head, and as the steady stream of water washes away the concoction, he runs his fingers through long blonde locks that are just a shade darker wet than they are dry. He watches the hair fall through his fingers and feels as if world peace has just been obtained.

“There,” Courfeyrac whispers. “Now you’ll smell just like me.”

Jehan only laughs. “That’s impossible, Courf. Nobody could smell like you.”

Then Jehan turns around so they’re facing one another. Their lips connect for a second before Jehan repays the favor, taking the same shampoo in his hand and rubbing it through Courfeyrac’s curls. Courfeyrac bows his head and holds him as Jehan works, arms wrapped tightly around Jehan’s hips in order to pull their bodies as closely together as possible, as if trying to prove not a single layer of atoms could ever come between them.

“All done,” Jehan says, giving Courfeyrac’s hair a good ruffle, and no sooner does he say that when he’s being shoved roughly against the tile wall of the shower. He lets out a small surprised gasp that gets silenced when a very familiar pair of lips shuts him up.

Jehan holds Courfeyrac, slippery hands frantically running up and down Courfeyrac’s spine, sliding around his neck, tangling into his wet hair. Courfeyrac holds Jehan’s face as they kiss hot and heavy, feeling Jehan’s jaw work over and over.

A year ago, they kissed in the rain and Jehan hated it. It was cold and their clothes clung to their bodies, but as they make out in the shower, he’s warm and naked and it’s hot and sexy and he never wants it to end.

But alas, all good things reach their final destination. Jehan takes Courfeyrac’s hands in his own and stares down at the palms. Courfeyrac’s fingers are all shriveled and pruned, and they both laugh and decide to call it quits. So Jehan turns off the stream of water and leads his boyfriend out, both of them giggling the whole way.

And then they have sex.

 

 ---

 

Eventually, Jehan decides they both need to get up, get dressed, and do something with their lives, to which Courfeyrac moans and declares that it’s a Saturday and nobody should do anything on Saturday s.

Still, Jehan rouses himself from bed and picks up his jeans from the floor. When he does, he feels a hand smack across his ass and he lets out a squeak. He snaps his head around to stare at Courfeyrac’s sinister smirk and reaches out to give the back of Courfeyrac’s hand a small slap of disapproval, but Courfeyrac doesn’t seem to look too reprimanded.

They spend the whole day in Courfeyrac’s room all by themselves, watching movies and playing games (Jehan goes undefeated in checkers) and when Combeferre calls, Courfeyrac declines it and turns off his phone completely. He honestly didn’t care if Combeferre was in the hospital missing a leg, today he was going to focus on nothing but Jehan.

It’s a rather uneventful anniversary overall. They go out to eat, Courfeyrac intending to pay, but he misjudges the prices and Jehan won’t let him go broke again so they split the bill.

When they get back to Courfeyrac’s room, Jehan immediately pushes his boyfriend onto the bed and climbs on top of him, sealing their lips together in an urgent kiss. Courfeyrac responds by grabbing Jehan’s hips and rubbing circles into Jehan’s sharp pelvic bones as a form of encouragement.

They make love for the second time that day (it’s okay, they’re still young) and it’s fast and rough and needy and Jehan bites at Courfeyrac’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but Courfeyrac is too lost in ecstasy to even care.

“Mmm love you,” Jehan practically purrs happily against Courfeyrac’s chest.

Courfeyrac presses his nose to Jehan’s hair and responds “and I love you.”

And then, Courfeyrac sits up abruptly, annoying Jehan who loses his comfortable resting spot. “Oh,” Courfeyrac vocalizes, leaning far over the edge to reach a hand under the bed. Jehan sits up as well and rests his chin on Courfeyrac’s shoulder, trying to see what his boyfriend is retrieving.

When Jehan lays eyes on it, he inhales sharply. “Courf,” he breathes as the object is placed in his hands. It’s a journal, hardback and cream white, and completely empty. “Oh Courf,” Jehan repeats.

Courfeyrac, suddenly embarrassed, nervously rubs the back of his neck. “I just, I noticed your journal was getting pretty filled up so I thought I’d save you some trouble.”

“You didn’t have to buy me anything,” Jehan says, but he touches the book like he loves it already, bringing it close to his body.

Courfeyrac only shrugs. “To be honest, I found it in a bargain bin.”

Well now all the magic is gone. Jehan rolls his eyes. “How romantic. You shouldn’t tell people that. It’s like leaving the price tag on a Christmas present.”

It seems Courfeyrac doesn’t care too much, and quite honestly, neither does Jehan. No matter the price or how long Courfeyrac actually spent looking for the damn thing, it still came from Courfeyrac, and that’s all Jehan really needed.

“So?”

Jehan raises an eyebrow. “So, what?”

“What’d you get me?” Courfeyrac’s eyes are wide like a child on his birthday.

Jehan snorts at that. “Who says I got you anything?”

“Well, nobody,” Courfeyrac admits. “But you did though, didn’t you?”

It’s true. Jehan lets out a sigh and reaches over to the foot of the bed where his messenger bag sits, rummaging through it and pulling out his old journal, old and worn and full of memories. There’s a paper sticking out of the journal, which Jehan slips out and hands over to Courfeyrac with a slight blush on his cheeks.

Courfeyrac takes the paper and grins wildly. It’s a poem, that much is obvious, a poem written just for Courfeyrac. “Damn Jean,” Courfeyrac chuckles.

“Sorry I didn’t buy anything,” Jehan mumbles self-consciously. He thought it would be enough because he never expected Courfeyrac to be the type to spend money on gifts, but as he holds the brand new journal in his hands he feels immensely guilty.

“Are you kidding?” Courfeyrac laughs again. “This is amazing!” He skims the first stanza, breaks out into the same goofy smile he always puts on when he reads Jehan’s poetry. Then, he clears his throat, straightens his face, and hands the paper back to Jehan, who takes it confusedly.  “You read it,” Courfeyrac commands.

“What?” Jehan asks, startled.

“You heard me,” is Courfeyrac’s response. “It’s not much of a special anniversary present until you read it. That’s how you can make up for not buying anything.”

Jehan scoffs. “I thought you said-,”

“I lied,” Courfeyrac laughs. “Come on babe, just read it. For me?”

Jehan bites his lip and gives his boyfriend a worried look. But Courfeyrac looks so innocent staring back at him like that with wide eyes and an expectant expression on his face. So Jehan sighs and gives in, holding the paper in front of his face and clearing his throat.

Before he can begin, however, Courfeyrac interrupts him. “Hold on,” he says. “None of your fancy languages. Read it so I can understand it.”

So Jehan sighs once more and begins.

And it’s the most beautiful poem Courfeyrac has ever heard in his life. He can’t help closing his eyes and listening to nothing but the sound of Jehan’s smooth voice. Yes, he decides, Jehan’s poetry was definitely made to be spoken out loud.

After a few hours of idle chatter, Jehan falls asleep in Courfeyrac’s lap and Courfeyrac entertains himself by stroking Jehan’s cheek, threading fingers through his hair, and plaiting those long blonde locks. Courfeyrac wants them to stay like this forever, just happy and satisfied for the rest of both of their lives. He can imagine growing old with Jehan and being retired and grey-haired and braiding Jehan’s long also-grey hair. He can imagine dying by Jehan’s side, both of them exhausted by old age. It’s not even a morbid feeling, Courfeyrac thinks. No, instead he feels calm and tranquil. He had always feared death, but with Jehan next to him, curled up against his body, he could fear nothing. 


	13. courfeyrac gives a lap dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternate chapter title: this is no longer a university au

And just like that, they’re all free men.

It’s a rather lively graduation ceremony. The valedictorian just happens to be too preoccupied with food poisoning to attend so Enjolras stands up and gives an uncomfortable impromptu speech about how world will never move forward unless students are willing to step into the adult world and die bloody gruesome deaths for the sake of justice and progress of humankind.

_“Enjolras you did_ not _poison the valedictorian.”_

_“Why would I ever do a thing like that?”_

 Marius trips up the stairs but hey, what’s new?

Then to celebrate their newfound maturity and official adulthood, they all go and get shitfaced drunk.

“I can’t believe we’re finally fucking out of there,” Courfeyrac groans before gulping down another shot of whatever the hell was in the bottle in front of him.

“ _I’m_ fucking out of there,” Jehan jabs him in the side to remind him. “ _You_ , my darling, have three more years of hell.”

Courfeyrac  groans. “Fuuuuuck me.” And he drinks again. “I changed my mind, I’m dropping out of law school.”

“I won’t let you,” Jehan responds firmly, but his fingers are soft against Courfeyrac’s cheek as a form of reassurance.

Suddenly Feuilly’s voice can be heard from across the room as he raises a glass in the air. “Let’s have a toast for those of us who never have to drool all over lecture sheets again for as long as we live!”

And Jehan scrambles up to stand on a chair with his own glass bottle and proclaim “and a moment of silence for those whose torture will follow them for many years more!”

They all drink.

Then, Combeferre’s eyes dart around the room. “I think we all need another motivational speech from our fearless leader. Where the hell is Enjolras?”

Around him, chants of “yeah, speech, speech, speech!” echo across the chaos of the bar.

Feuilly volunteers himself to go search for Enjolras who seemed to have disappeared.

Now that Jehan is looking around, Grantaire is gone too, which is really strange for him because he’s missing a hell of a lot of alcohol.

Jehan’s only allowed one drink because he’s taking Courfeyrac home. This means, of course, that Courfeyrac consumes enough alcohol for the both of them. It’s nearly halfway through the night and the place is littered with empty shot glasses and beer bottles, and Courfeyrac seems rather intent on giving Jehan a lap dance.

Jehan is really trying to have a serious conversation with Joly about medical school, since it was always something he was fascinated by but he was never scientifically intellectual enough to make it. He keeps trying to speak, but it’s difficult with a grown man in your lap grinding your hips together and trying to kiss every bit of bare skin.

“ Are you sure? I really can’t see you being a surgeon though,” Jehan says, leaning his head away from Courfeyrac and grabbing at Courfeyrac’s hip with one hand to try to steady his body. It doesn’t work, and Courfeyrac keeps on grinding.

“Well, not like an open heart surgeon or anything like that,” Joly responds, and truth be told he’s a bit uncomfortable with Courfeyrac’s blatant display of sexual implications.

“I thought you wanted to be a family doctor-Courf, _stop_ ,” Jehan whines, pushing Courfeyrac’s face out of the way. He really can’t speak to Joly with his boyfriend trying to whisper in his ear all the things they’re going to do when they leave the bar.

But Courfeyrac is persistent and latches his mouth onto Jehan’s neck, sloppily kissing and nipping at the pale skin before him.

He moans as he presses his pelvis into Jehan’s stomach and whispers into his loving poet’s ear “I want to fuck you so hard.”

“ _Not now_ Courf,” Jehan whispers back, and he tries to go back to his conversation.

“Jean,” Courfeyrac exhales into his boyfriend’s collarbone. “Jean stop ignoring me. Pay attention to me,” He pouts like a child.

And perhaps Jehan does feel a bit bad for neglecting his lover for so long, so he takes pity on the man in his lap and runs a hand through Courfeyrac’s hair. “Is this what you want baby?” He presses an innocent kiss to Courfeyrac’s dark curls. “You’re upset I haven’t been paying attention to you?”

Courfeyrac kisses up Jehan’s jaw and Jehan lets him, and when their mouths are so close together, it’s Jehan that seals their lips together. Courfeyrac whines and tangles his hands into Jehan’s hair as Jehan’s arms slip around Courfeyrac’s neck and they move closer towards one another.

Joly just gets up and leaves because there’s no way he’s sticking around because he’s sure that whatever Jehan and his boyfriend are doing, it’s not going to be sanitary.

That’s when Feuilly enters the scene again, his pupils dilated and his face flushed as he announces in a stutter “I think Enjolras and Grantaire are literally trying to eat each other’s faces.”

At first, Combeferre looks at him with his mouth gaped open and the most startled expression on his face. Then, he bursts into a near violent fit of laughter.

Enjolras rushes out of the bathroom to explain himself just then, his face redder than Feuilly’s and upon witnessing Combeferre’s giggle fit, just stares at everyone in absolute horror.

Grantaire emerges behind him and that’s when everybody knows.

\---

Courfeyrac lies in bed, eyes following as Jehan moves swiftly around the room packing things into several suitcases. Courfeyrac’s things.

Jehan really shouldn’t have to do this. It’s Courfeyrac’s fault for being so drunk last night, so his massive hangover is just a reminder of the consequences of his actions. But he loves Courfeyrac and he loves keeping busy so he folds up Courfeyrac’s boxers neatly and packs them up.

When Jehan slips by the bed for a moment, Courfeyrac captures him by the waist and pulls him down onto the bed, Jehan falling on his boyfriend with a little verbal yelp.

Courfeyrac snuggles against the side of Jehan’s face and squeezes around the poet’s middle as tight as he possibly can without breaking Jehan in half.

Jehan cranes his neck as they exchange soft, lazy kisses for a while and traces random scribbles into Courfeyrac’s forearms with his long fingers.

“Where are you going?” Jehan whispers when their mouths separate.

“I’m splitting rent four-way with Combeferre, Enjolras, and Grantaire. It’s just an apartment complex across the university,” is Courfeyrac’s response.

Jehan laughs. “Four of you under one roof? That sounds ridiculous.”

“It sounds _fun_. Besides, it’s all we can do really. Enj and Combeferre will be in law school with me so the most we can do is get part-time jobs and well, Grantaire is the classic definition of a starving artist.”

Jehan rearranges himself so he can press a kiss to Courfeyrac’s eyebrow. “I just can’t believe this is really happening.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to be alone,” Courfeyrac retorts. “You know, this is your last chance to hitch a ride. I’m sure we can squeeze another one in if you don’t mind sleeping with me on the floor.”

Jehan laughs, but politely refuses. “Sorry, Courf.”

And he gets up, determined to finish packing before noon.

He doesn’t.

It’s nearly two in the afternoon by the time the room is stripped bare. But that’s okay, because life is good.

“Hey, Courf?” Jehan asks as he zips up the last suitcase.

“Hmm?” Is Courfeyrac’s lazy reply.

Jehan bites his lip and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “I…I was going to mention this earlier, but I guess it slipped my mind.”

Courfeyrac sits up in bed. “What is it, babe?”

Jehan spins around on his heels to stare his boyfriend in the face, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips and threatening to break into a wide grin. “I got a call the other day. They said they loved my work and-,” he pauses, “I’m getting published!”

Courfeyrac responds by screaming and grabbing at Jehan again, pulling him so they’re both tumbling into the bare bed.

And it’s funny how things just seem to work out.


	14. courfeyrac basically ruins everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and now everybody hates me

It’s really hard for Courfeyrac to adjust to new situations.

For instance, things are quieter without Jehan.

Sort of.

In some way, things are obviously louder. Enjolras and Grantaire are always yelling at each other, Combeferre is always yelling at his textbook, and Courfeyrac is always yelling at the television. On Saturday nights they all put in a movie and watch a good ten minutes before Enjolras is off on a spiel about how unethical the characters behave, and Combeferre won’t stop laughing and Courfeyrac keeps on going “Sssssh!!!!” as loud as he can. During the day, someone is always blabbing.

When all the lights go off, however, things grow silent. Courfeyrac sprawls out on the couch bed and stares at the ceiling. Sometimes Combeferre snores but that’s always resolved when Grantaire drudges out of the bed he shares with Enjolras and nearly smothers him to death with a pillow, and the silence immediately returns.

Courfeyrac doesn’t like it. Being quiet is so much different when you’re alone. He used to love the silence, words that go unspoken with another body cuddled tight against his-Jehan’s body. He misses Jehan’s body heat, he misses running fingers through long golden hair, and he misses the feeling of someone wrapping their arms around him.

Sometimes Jehan would invite him over. Jehan’s apartment wasn’t that much of a walking distance, but he still lived by his no-distractions rule. When Courfeyrac did come over though, everything was perfect. They would eat together and talk and kiss and make love and lay side by side with their fingers entwined together. It wasn’t ideal, they knew, but they could make do.

But now Jehan is gone. It all happened so fast, really. After a rather successful publishing, he was suddenly the face of modern poetry, the one who could bring poetry back into the hearts of the young generation. His works appealed to teenagers and adults alike, and then his next collection’s pre-orders sold out within a week and he and Courfeyrac must have had sex at least four times that night to celebrate. In the early hours of the morning, Jehan got a phone call. Courfeyrac whined as Jehan shifted to reach his phone, much too tired to release his lover, but it was a business call and no distractions right, Courf? When the phone call ended, Courfeyrac asked what that was all about, and Jehan stroked through his boyfriend’s hair lovingly as he said “they want me to attend a workshop in California.” And of course Courfeyrac didn’t want him to go, but he told him to anyways because he could just hear the excitement in Jehan’s voice.

That workshop was not the first. Soon Jehan was constantly away, attending workshops, teaching workshops, meeting with publishers at every edge of the country, and then he was in Europe on business trips, guest lecturing at universities, and having a great time being nowhere near the man he loved.

Jehan hasn’t been home in a month, Courfeyrac notes as his eyes remain transfixed on the ceiling. He tries, really, he tries so hard to be supportive. He loves Jehan so much, and he knows in the end all he really wants is for Jehan to be happy, but he’s also ridiculously lonely and quite frankly left in the dust. Jehan is getting attention and traveling around the world and Courfeyrac is still stuck in school and nobody knows who the hell he is.

Courfeyrac needs to hear his voice.

“Jean,” he speaks through his phone in a low whisper.

“ _Courf_?” The voice on the other line is drowsy and broken, like Jehan has just woken up. “ _It’s nearly five in the morning, what do you want?”_

“It’s only midnight here,” Courfeyrac responds. “I just wanted to talk to you, that’s all.”

There’s a pause, and then a sigh. “ _I have a plane to catch in a few hours_.”

And Courfeyrac’s heart drops. “I’m sorry.”

Another sigh. “ _No it’s okay, I understand. It’s really nice to hear you_.”

“I miss you,” is the only thing Courfeyrac can say.

“ _I miss you too babe_ ,” and Jehan still sounds tired and Courfeyrac still feels guilty.

“I know. I’m sorry for waking you up. Go back to sleep.”

“ _Well there’s no point now_.”

“Jehan, sleep.” Courfeyrac’s voice is demanding.

He can hear Jehan give a short laugh. “ _All right, Courf, you get some sleep too then_.”

“Good night, Jean.”

“ _You too sweetie_.”

“I love you.”

“ _I love you more_.”

Courfeyrac hangs up first.

\---

“Uuuugggghhhh” Courfeyrac moans, dragging his arms across the kitchen table as if he’s in some immense amount of pain.

“Courfeyrac if you don’t _shut up_ and stop moping you can eat outside,” Combeferre hisses, setting two bowls of cereal on the table. “Jehan said he’s coming home next week.”

“He said that last week,” Courfeyrac complains, refusing to lift his head from the tabletop. “And I’m so _fucking horny_ I can’t stand it.”

Combeferre wrinkles his nose in disgust as he sits across from his roommate. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“My balls are so fucking blue I swear they’re going to fall off any minute,” Courfeyrac drones, completely ignoring Combeferre’s obvious discomfort.

“I haven’t had sex in over a year, Courf, I think you can hang on for another week,” Combeferre snorts.

Courfeyrac just pouts. “That’s because no one likes you.”

Combeferre smacks him in the face with a spoon.

When Combeferre is finished with his cereal, he throws his bowl in the sink and leaves it there because it’s a Courfeyrac-washes-all-the-dishes day. He then slips on his jacket and steps into his shoes. He works in the morning, at McDonalds because he’s a classy motherfucker, and then immediately heads off to class after noon so he’s constantly busy. Courfeyrac’s class doesn’t start for another hour so he has time to kill right now.

“I’m leaving,” Combeferre announces as if it isn’t obvious already. “Don’t you fucking dare hump my table Mr. Blue Balls,” he points an accusatory finger at Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac whines in protest. “What am I going to do, Ferre?”

“Well for one, you can shut the fuck up and put some pants on.”

And with that, Courfeyrac is alone.

\---

“Jehan! I’m so glad you called! Do you need me to pick you up from the airport?”

“ _No Courf, I’m so sorry, I’m just calling to say something came up. I’m going to be in London for a little while_.”

“Oh.” Courfeyrac’s voice is suddenly dry. “How long?”

“ _Uh…a week? Maybe two? I’m so sorry baby, I’ve been looking forward to coming home for so long_.”

“No I understand,” and Courfeyrac really does, but he still sounds so disappointed. “Go get ’em, tiger.”

“ _Thank you Courf. I love you so much_.”

“Yeah.”

\---

Tired and bummed out, Courfeyrac spends the evening at a bar drinking his problems away. He laughs at himself looking so pathetic and so like Grantaire it’s scary.

The bar is crap. The alcohol is bitter. Courfeyrac ends up feeling even worse. He wants his Jehan back so badly, and he wants to be selfish enough to demand that he come home immediately because London be damned, his boyfriend needed him.

He takes another shot of alcohol, grimaces, follows the man next to him back home and fucks him into the mattress.

He doesn’t know why he did it. He’s lonely and attention-starved and the blond next to him just keeps giving him flirty eyes and yeah his hair was a short and a curly sort of blond, but he has an array of freckles on his nose and Courfeyrac just loves freckles so much and it reminds him of how he hasn’t been able to count all of Jehan’s freckles yet. And he can see Jehan’s disappointed face as he walks out of the bar with the man hand-in-hand, and he can see Jehan crying after it’s all over, and truth be told Courfeyrac wants to cry too.

The stranger tries to kiss him in the morning. Courfeyrac turns his head away in guilt and the blond man instantly realizes why, and perhaps he feels equally as guilty.

When Courfeyrac returns home, all three of his roommates turn their heads to greet him and stare in horror at the tiny hickey on Courfeyrac’s jaw.

“ _Courfeyrac._ ” Enjolras’s voice is low and Courfeyrac knows it’s a warning, but he doesn’t want to listen to Enjolras’s lectures right now so he slips silently past everybody into the living room.

He tells himself it was a mistake. He tells Combeferre it was a mistake, that he fucked it up once, but everything was okay now.

Except it isn’t because Jehan is still in London two weeks later and Courfeyrac is still lonely and Combeferre is in class and Enjolras and Grantaire are probably having sex and the only one who’s paying Courfeyrac any attention is the dark skinned man across from him who keeps complimenting his eyes.

Courfeyrac loves Jehan with all his heart. But he’s touch-deprived and all alone and he loves Jehan but he also really fucking loves sex, and if he can’t have both, he’d rather have one rather than none.

This happens at least three more times, and every time he comes home he can see the disappointment in Combeferre’s eyes and it makes his stomach churn.

Courfeyrac knows he’s dug himself into a hole he’ll probably never be able to crawl out of. 


	15. full circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just in case you were wondering what the prologue was for

Then Jehan comes home.

Courfeyrac picks him up at the airport and they hug and kiss and Jehan immediately starts babbling about everything. His eyes are wide and vivid and his mouth is moving so fast Courfeyrac can hardly keep up, and everything is beautiful.

Jehan joins everyone for dinner and doesn’t even notice the sad looks everyone gives him as he chatters away excitedly.

He and Courfeyrac go back to his apartment and make sweet and tender love to each other, and oh how they both missed this.

When it’s over, Jehan presses against Courfeyrac’s back and runs his fingers up and down Courfeyrac’s shoulder blades and Courfeyrac freezes in place, suddenly too afraid to even breathe. Now, with his beautiful boyfriend back and unsuspecting, he’s never felt guiltier. The weight of all his sins suddenly crash upon him and he’s left regretting everything he’s ever done in his entire life ever. Jehan is back and he’s so happy and oblivious, and Courfeyrac is a liar and a cheater and the scum of the earth.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do that,” Jehan whispers happily.

Courfeyrac swallows hard and answers “uh, yeah me too.” It’s a lie and he hates himself for it. He wants to kick himself or drown.

\---

Combeferre thinks it’s all over. He bet Courfeyrac thinks it’s all over too. Jehan is back, everything should be perfect again. He was so disappointed in Courfeyrac the first time he was unfaithful to Jehan. He wanted to punch Courfeyrac in the face, scream at him, kick him out of the house, make him apologize. But he also knew Courfeyrac better than anybody else, and he knew how much Courfeyrac craved attention. When Courfeyrac started cheating, Combeferre tried to spend more time with him, get his mind off of how lonely he was inside, but it was hard between his job and school and in the end he failed to make a difference.

But now Courfeyrac has no reason to cheat.

So when Combeferre catches Courfeyrac sneaking through the door at three am with the most ashamed expression ever on his face, he gets really mad.

As it so happens, Jehan is still ridiculously busy at home and Courfeyrac finds himself still pining day after day. Jehan is nice enough to let Courfeyrac lounge around while he’s writing, but there’s a strict no-sex law in effect while Jehan is in the middle of a book. And Courfeyrac still feels empty inside.

“You’re a fucking shithead,” Combeferre hisses.

“I know.”

“Jehan doesn’t deserve you.”

“I know.”

“Well? What the hell are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.”

When Jehan finally finishes his collection, he treats Courfeyrac to dinner followed by a great round of sex.

And as usual, Courfeyrac feels like a failure.

“Courf, are you okay?” Jehan asks with genuine concern, squeezing around Courfeyrac’s waist and snuggling his nose in-between Courfeyrac’s shoulder blades.

“Yeah,” is Courfeyrac’s immediate response, but Jehan can feel his muscles tense.

Jehan frowns and kisses his boyfriend’s skin. “Look. I know it’s hard. I know how much you need attention and I’m so sorry I can’t give it to you.”

“It’s fine.” Courfeyrac’s voice cracks. “It’s not your fault, you do the best you can.”

“You must be so lonely,” Jehan sympathizes.

That’s the understatement of the year. But Courfeyrac only shrugs it away. “It’s okay as long as you’re here.”

“I love you,” Jehan reassures him.

But Courfeyrac can’t bring himself to say it back, like the words would be tainted in his tongue, so he pretends to fall asleep.

\---

And just like that, Jehan is gone again to meet with some publishers in Germany and Courfeyrac is left behind once more.

It gets so bad he’s practically fucking a different stranger every night like some sort of unpaid prostitute.

Combeferre keeps threatening to tell Jehan and Courfeyrac keeps saying he’ll quit. But he never quits and Combeferre never tells.

When he gets sick of sleeping in strange beds, Courfeyrac starts using the spare key to Jehan’s apartment. It’s the lowest thing he’s ever done, sleeping with strangers in Jehan’s bed, and he begins to hate himself.

His roommates won’t talk to him anymore. Enjolras just glares at him angrily and Combeferre can’t even look him in the eyes. He’s just waiting for the day he finally gets kicked out into the street for being an eyesore. He’s basically destroyed every relationship with everyone with his bad choices, but he can’t seem to quit.

\---

“ _Hi Courf! Looks like I’m going to be stuck here for another week or so, I’m really sorry_.”

“It’s okay.”

“ _I love you baby_.”

But before Jehan can hang up, Courfeyrac shouts “wait!”

“ _What is it_?”

“I…”Courfeyrac hesitates. He wants to say ‘I love you.’ ‘I miss you.’ But all that comes out is “I’ll see you when you get home.”

“ _You’re so cute._ _Yeah, okay. Goodbye Courf_.”

“Goodbye.”

The body next to him stirs and a sleepy head rises. “Who was that?”

Courfeyrac holds his stomach like he’s going to throw up. He literally just spoke to Jehan with another man in Jehan’s bed. Courfeyrac really couldn’t get any scummier than that. “Nobody,” he responds, and his words are poison on his own tongue.

\---

As it turns out, Jehan’s meeting is cancelled and he’s excited to come home and surprise Courfeyrac.

He stops by the grocery store on his way home despite the hour nearing midnight, much too excited for his plans for tomorrow. He was so ready to come home and finally sleep in his own bed again, get some rest and sleep in late before calling Courfeyrac and spending the whole entire day with him. There are so many movies he had missed while he was gone, and he can’t wait to see them with the man he loved. Then, he’d cook a romantic dinner for the both of them and they’d fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms.

He had everything planned out perfectly.

What he doesn’t plan for is showing up at his apartment to realize in horror that the door is unlocked. He panics, wondering if he had ever locked it in the first place. He should have called Courfeyrac to check weeks ago. For all he knew, he could have been robbed. For all he knew, the robber could still be in his home.

He opens the door cautiously to reveal the darkened sitting room. When he flicks on the lights, nothing seems to be out of place. He sighs in a giant relief. It seemed to be a miracle that his home had remained untouched for so long given the circumstances.

He spends some time organizing his groceries in his fridge and by the time he’s done it’s already past midnight and he’s about ready to keel over if he doesn’t get some sleep.

The thing about Jehan’s bedroom door is that it’s squeaky. It’s always been squeaky and it’s always been annoying. And loud. Very loud. Like, loud enough to wake up anybody who might be sleeping in that bed.

When the door creaks open, Jehan swears he hears a very quiet “shit,” but by then it’s too late and the door is wide open and so are Jehan’s eyes.

Jehan would have been surprised to see Courfeyrac in his bed in the first place, but even more surprising is the very awake and very strange man next to his boyfriend in _his_ bed. And from the state of both their hair, it’s pretty obvious what they had just been up to.

It’s still dark, but Jehan and Courfeyrac lock eyes immediately and they’re both horrified. Jehan covers his mouth with a hand like he’s going to vomit, and they both stare at each other for a long while.

 Jehan doesn’t even look angry. His eyes are just…sad. And perhaps that’s what kills Courfeyrac most of all.

And then Jehan removes his hand from his mouth and he’s practically shaking as he says in such a small voice “get out. Both of you.”

Courfeyrac doesn’t even linger a second longer as he scrambles out of bed. He can’t even breathe as he runs past Jehan, shutting the squeaky door behind him.

And then Jehan is alone. He slides down the door and cries and he is absolutely alone.

\---

The stranger follows Courfeyrac. He keeps trying to talk as if anything will make a difference, but Courfeyrac just gets really annoyed. It’s cold outside and Courfeyrac shivers as he finally gets fed up and turns to the man. “Hey, can you just shut the fuck up and go away?”

The stranger doesn’t need to be told twice.

Eventually Courfeyrac isn’t even looking where he’s walking. He doesn’t look up to see what street he’s on, not that he cares much. He’s essentially just wandering around without a purpose, which he supposes is a metaphor for his entire life. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Yeah he’s in law school, but his classes suck and he really doesn’t want to be a lawyer. He’s never had much of an interest in things. He was never drawn to literature or science or politics. He was never even really drawn to people. He had friends, but those friends found him and he would never actively seek out a permanent companion. Mainly because he knows nothing is permanent. He could get a job. Nobody can guarantee it’s a permanent job. He could make friends. Friends drift apart, they have falling outs. Lovers break up. That’s life, and it’s sad, and there’s nothing Courfeyrac hates more than being sad, so why should he risk seeking permanence?

He doesn’t know why he thinks Jehan was an exception. He doesn’t know why he thought they could live forever perfectly in love. He took a risk with Jehan because Jehan made him happy, but now he realizes that Jehan could also make him sadder than ever before.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It’s never supposed to be this way, Courfeyrac supposes. It’s not like he threw himself into this relationship with the intention of purposefully fucking everything up. But he did it anyways, and now he’s wandering around the streets at one in the morning thinking about nothing other than all the ways he’s fucked everything up.

“You fucked everything up, Courfeyrac!” is the first thing Combeferre practically spits out when Courfeyrac finally shows his face.

And then he’s getting punched in the face by Enjolras not once, not twice, but three times in a row until his back slams against the wall and he’s seeing stars dance around his head. And Enjolras would have kept going if Grantaire hadn’t pulled him back.

“Don’t fucking play dumb you _asshole_ ,” Enjolras barks. “Jehan just called and spilled the whole thing which, let me tell you, was not fun because he’s practically fucking incoherent when he’s sobbing his fucking eyes out.”

Courfeyrac doesn’t even open his mouth.

“What, you’ve got nothing to say?” Enjolras snaps. “You screwed a stranger _in your boyfriend’s bed_ and you got caught and now you’ve got nothing to say?”

Courfeyrac keeps his lips sealed. Sorry obviously wouldn’t cut it. There wasn’t an apology in the world that could cover how badly he had screwed up.

“You know what?” Enjolras throws his hands up. “Just go. Leave. I can’t even bare to look at you. Jehan is my friend and you stabbed him in the back and you know how much I _hate_ backstabbers. Just leave, Courfeyrac.”

Even Combeferre seems to be in agreement.

So Courfeyrac leaves, getting kicked out of the second house in less than twelve hours.

\---

Feuilly is the only one who will take him in, and even he can hardly stand to look Courfeyrac in the face.

Courfeyrac keeps silent for six days straight.

When he’s had enough, he calls Jehan’s cellphone. The number is out of service. Feuilly says that Enjolras said that Jehan broke it when he threw it at a wall.

He calls Jehan’s home phone. But by then it’s too late. Jehan’s apartment is completely wiped out and empty save for the courtesy apartment telephone left in the middle of the room.

**Beep.**

**The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.**

**Beep.**

Courfeyrac spills his heart out.

**Your message time has expired. Please hang up or, press one for more options.**

He drops his face into his hands and cries until his shoulders are violently shaking and his throat is raw and he is so, so indubitably alone.


	16. there is unfortunate hair

The poet Jean Prouvaire disappears.

He releases two new collections, and then within a year he’s gone without a trace. For months, Courfeyrac can’t help but stop by the bookstore, but the news he gets from the manager is always the same. No new books. Jehan isn’t publishing anymore for some odd reason, and it upsets Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac drops out of law school. He sits in a cubicle all day and drinks four cups of coffee every morning and he’s so bored out of his mind he could scream. But he can’t, because then he’d get fired, and he needs this job to pay for his single room apartment. He lived with Feuilly for a while, sure, but then Feuilly got engaged and it was really awkward having Courfeyrac around. Combeferre eventually forgave him (“in the end you’re the only one I’ve known practically since birth, Courf”) but he still lives with Enjolras and Enjolras still hates him. Probably.

Enjolras and Grantaire broke up too. Two weeks later, they were back together. Since then they’ve been really on and off, according to Combeferre, and they’ll probably be on and off for the rest of their lives. They’re just too different from each other, but they’re just so irrevocably in love, which is a dangerous combination.

Courfeyrac doesn’t sleep around _as much_ anymore. Just every other weekend or so when he’s just so bored and alone he’ll pick up somebody and bring them home and have his way with them, and it’s great because this time there aren’t any consequences. Well, except for that one girl he brings home who wakes up automatically assuming they’re now dating and she’s in tears by the time Courfeyrac explains he’s not that type of guy. Whatever, the point is he has nothing to feel guilty about. He’s free and wild and no-strings-attached again, and there’s no “other man” to worry about cheating on. It’s great. It’s fantastic and Courfeyrac loves it. And it’s almost great enough to make up for his shit office job.

\---

It’s that time of year again. Truth be told Courfeyrac really hasn’t seen his parents in nearly three years, but for good reason, honestly. His mother is desperately clingy. It must be genetic. Still, she calls and informs Courfeyrac that she’ll be meeting him for Mother’s Day, no ifs, ands, or buts, don’t sigh at me like that young man.

Courfeyrac loves his mother, he really does, despite her control freak tendencies, so if she’s going to show up he might as well do it right.

And what better way than to prepare a little bouquet of flowers? (It was Courfeyrac’s mother’s idea. “You never get me flowers, Courfeyrac, everybody else buys their mother flowers but I never get flowers. It’s like my own son hates me.”)

There’s a little flower shop on the street where Courfeyrac lives. He’s never been there, but he’s noticed it all the same. It is on his route home after all. It always looks quiet and peaceful and not at all expensive, so what the hell right?

He’s still dressed in his work clothes when he enters, and suddenly he’s surrounded by an assortment of colors and smells. He swears he’s never seen this many colors all bunched in one place in his life. And it just smells like…like flowers. Which was kind of a given but whatever. Courfeyrac hates flower scented candles but the real deal? So much nicer smelling.

“Welcome!” A smooth voice calls out from behind the counter. The owner of the voice is facing away, arranging a pot of flowers on the top shelf. His hair is short and blond and Courfeyrac doesn’t think anything of it. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac starts. “I’m trying to get something for my mom but I’m not sure what…” his voice trails off as the salesman turns around and his breath instantly hitches.

Freckles.

Thin eyebrows.

Pale lips.

Slender nose.

 _Freckles_.

Jehan.

The entire world freezes around them as the shopkeeper stares at Courfeyrac and Courfeyrac stares at him, and they’re instantly recognizable to each other. _But it can’t be_.

“Courfeyrac?”

_But it is._

“Jehan,” Courfeyrac breathes.

They stare at each other just a while longer, both of them in utter disbelief. There are so many words in Courfeyrac’s mind, things he wants to just scream out at the top of his lungs. He wants to apologize. He wants to insult himself. He wants to tell Jehan he loves him. Oh god how he loves him, how he loves him still. “Jehan,” he repeats. “I-,”

“So,” Jehan is quick to interrupt him. He clears his throat and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, only to have it fall back in his face because his hair is too damn short for it now (oh poor Jehan what have you done?). “You’re looking for your mother?”

“Uh…yeah,” Courfeyrac stutters, completely taken aback by how quick Jehan was to change the subject.

“Well,” Jehan begins, and he’s entered his strictly professional mode. “What’s she like? We can make her a bouquet based on her personality.”

Courfeyrac grimaces. “She doesn’t have a very lovely personality.”

And maybe Jehan almost smiles at that. “Well then we could always go generic. You can never go wrong with roses.”

“She hates roses.”

Jehan turns on his heels and begins to walk, and Courfeyrac follows. Jehan leads him to the opposite end of the store where he takes a flower and holds it up to Courfeyrac. “The orchard symbolizes beauty and refinement.”

“They’re also very pink,” Courfeyrac notes, but he takes the flower anyways.

“They come in blue too.”

“Let’s stick with the pink.”

Jehan moves again to another wall where he hands Courfeyrac a yellow flower. “Tulips are quiet popular for Mother’s Day, being a spring flower and all.”

“They have a funny shape,” Courfeyrac responds, but he holds it with the orchard in his hand.

“Daisies,” Jehan explains as he hands one to his customer, “provoke happiness.”

Courfeyrac accepts everything that is handed to him.

Eventually, Jehan deems he has a successful bouquet and pauses to admire his taste.

When he pauses, Courfeyrac can’t help but rip a carnation off its stem, to which Jehan frowns and mentions “you’re definitely paying for that one.” Courfeyrac only laughs and reaches up to gently poise the flower behind Jehan’s ear, startling the blond.

“Courfey-,”

“Get coffee with me.”

Jehan takes a step backwards. “I…I can’t.”

“Please.”

“No, Courf.”

“Come on, it’s just a coffee. I’m not asking you to live with me or anything.”

Jehan just shakes his head. “I said no! No Courfeyrac, I can’t, okay?”

“Please Jean,”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Come on. Just a coffee. It’s not a date or anything like that, it’s just coffee. Please? For old times’ sake?”

Jehan bites his bottom lip and Courfeyrac can see the confliction on his face.

Eventually though, Jehan gives in. He bows his head and nods as he barely whispers “okay, Courf. One coffee.”

\---

When Jehan gets off work, they just go to the closest Starbucks and order really simple coffees, and it’s totally not a date.

At first it’s awkward. Like, how should one spark up conversation with their ex after over a year of silence?

So Courfeyrac decides on “so what happened to the poetry?”

Jehan stares down at the table. “It just…wasn’t working out. That’s all. I didn’t expect so much commitment. Besides, I like this flower shop so much better. The owner gives me discounts and I’m surrounded by flowers all day. It’s nice.”

“But you were getting to be so famous,” Courfeyrac protests.

“Just drop it.”

“But-,”

“Drop it, okay?” And Jehan’s tone is so harsh Courfeyrac shuts up for a solid five minutes.

By the time they finish their coffee however, the mood has softened up considerably. Jehan still keeps tabs on Enjolras and they laugh about his wishy washy approach with Grantaire.

Jehan is getting ready to stand up and leave when Courfeyrac lashes out and grabs at his wrist. Jehan looks at him in surprise. “Look,” Courfeyrac starts. “Can I see you again?”

Jehan looks hurt. “I…I can’t.”

“Please Jehan,” Courfeyrac sounds desperate.

“Courfeyrac, I have a boyfriend.”

The words turn Courfeyrac to stone. He softens his grip enough to let Jehan free his wrist, but his face remains shocked and fallen.

The only word he manages to mutter is “oh.”

“Yeah,” Jehan responds. “I’m sorry.” And he tries to get up to leave again, but Courfeyrac is grabbing at his wrist again and he sighs in annoyance. “Courf, seriously,”

“Just one more time,” Courfeyrac pleads. “I told you, it’s not a date. I just need to see you again.”

“I told you, I have a boyfriend,” Jehan repeats, his tone rising in anger. “And I’m not about to just go fucking around meeting people behind his back, unlike _some_ people.” And he knows he’s struck a vein and he doesn’t feel guilty about it at all.

Courfeyrac looks taken aback. But then again, he deserved it. His expression falls as he pleads one last time. “Please. Please Jean.”

“ _Don’t_ call me that. You lost that privilege over a year ago.”

“Please.”

Jehan knows if he says yes he could be getting himself into pretty hot water.

But he regretfully nods anyways. “Fine, Courfeyrac. Just let me go.”

And Courfeyrac lets him take his leave.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will probably be the last oops


	17. resolution

“You cut your hair,” is the first thing Courfeyrac says when they meet a week later.

“Yeah,” Jehan acknowledges. “A while ago. I just uh…needed some change.”

It upsets Courfeyrac. He can still remember what it felt to thread his fingers through long blond locks, to braid the smooth strands and kiss the tips. He wants to relive those memories again. Unfortunately, he’s no time traveler and Jehan doesn’t seem too willing to recreate the moments.

“It suits you,” Courfeyrac says, and he’s telling the truth. Jehan looks older with his new haircut, more mature, refined even. It frames his long, slender face rather well and it’s weird, but Courfeyrac could get used to it.

“Thanks,” is Jehan’s blatant response. His fingers tap quietly on the lid of his coffee cup, like he’s impatiently waiting for something but he’s not sure what.

The silence is deafening and they learn the true struggle of trying to have a conversation with your ex-boyfriend whom you did not leave on good terms with.

“So, what’s new with you?” Jehan tries. “Still living with the Brady Bunch?”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “Naw, they kicked me out.”

Jehan bites his lower lip. He wants to apologize, but the words can’t seem to leave his tongue. In God’s honest truth, Courfeyrac deserved it, but Jehan has too much of a heart to say it out loud, even to the man who had hurt him so much.

Five minutes of silence later, Jehan can’t stand it. “I have to get to work,” he says in a hurry, abruptly standing up, which upsets his hair so he reaches up to tuck it back behind his ear (which doesn’t work). When he does, the sleeve of his sweater rides up and Courfeyrac hitches his breath.

It’s startling when Courfeyrac grabs Jehan’s forearm and yanks his arm in front of him. Jehan lets out a surprised cry and struggles to take back his arm, but by then it’s too late and Courfeyrac is pulling the sleeve up and he can see it. The marks are faint, but there are definitely bruises on Jehan’s wrist like someone has been holding onto him a little too tight for a little too long. And Courfeyrac bets if he looked, he’d find identical bruises on the opposite wrist.

“Who’s your boyfriend?” It’s a demand more than a question.

“Let me go,” Jehan answers defiantly, still struggling to pull his defiled arm away.

“Who is he?” Courfeyrac repeats through grit teeth. “What’s his name?” He wants to kill him. He’s never wanted to murder anybody in his life, but then again he’s never seen bruises on Jehan’s body like this.

“It’s none of your business, Courf!”

“It’s none of my business?” Courfeyrac holds Jehan’s arm in front of him so Jehan has a clear view of the bruises on his wrist. “Did he do this to you? Or did you just decide to bruise yourself just for kicks? How many more of these do you have on your body?”

“So what?” Jehan manages to finally free himself, taking hold of his wrist and looking at Courfeyrac like he had been the one who hurt him. “I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions. You don’t know the context, Courf. Who knows? Maybe I _like_ it.”

“But you don’t,” Courfeyrac retorts.

Jehan scoffs at him. “How the hell would you know?”

“Because I know you,” Courfeyrac responds. “And this isn’t some weird kinky bedroom antic because you take care of your body and you wanted it unmarked-you’re the one who used to give me shit for trying to give you a hickey! So why don’t you just sit down, quit lying to my face because you’re a terrible liar, and tell me why you’re dating a scumbag?”

Jehan snorts. “Oh, right, like you’re one to talk. I don’t think you’re in any position to call anybody a scumbag, Courfeyrac.”

“At least I don’t bruise the people I love.”

“No, you just sleep around behind their back.”

Courfeyrac looks startled. But Jehan isn’t done.

“He loves me. He says he loves me and I know I’m the only man in his life, and I know he won’t fuck someone in my bed! Maybe he gets angry sometimes, okay, but bruises go away. And he always apologizes. Always. Where’s my apology, Courf?”

Courfeyrac almost sneers right back at him. “Well maybe if you had stuck around for longer than five minutes instead of packing everything up and fleeing like I was the plague, maybe you would have heard it! I left you a message, you know, but of course you wouldn’t have heard it because you were too busy running away from your problems. Bit of an overreaction there, isn’t it?”

“Overreaction?” Jehan practically shouts. “You cheated on me. You screwed someone behind my back, _in my bed_ , and who knows how many times you’ve done it before? I was furious. And you know what? I was going to leave anyways. I was finally making enough money to move out of that shit apartment and I was going to ask you if you wanted to hop along, but then you went and fucked us both over, so _excuse me_ for overreacting a bit.” When Courfeyrac takes too long to respond, Jehan runs his hands through his short hair and grips his blond locks. He suddenly laughs incredulously, as if the whole situation was hilarious, and shakes his head. “Everyone warned me. Courfeyrac’s just a stupid flirt, don’t even try approaching him, you’ll just get hurt in the end. And I didn’t listen, and I guess that was my fault. I just…I thought I was special, you know? The exception to the rule. I thought I could go around proving everyone wrong, that you were more than a dick attached to a dick, but I couldn’t.”

He looks at Courfeyrac with fire in his eyes. “I suppose I always knew it was going to happen. I dreaded it the moment we started dating, but I suppressed the feelings because I was still hopelessly head over heels in love with you, but the possibility was still there. I had nightmares, you know, of you finally getting bored of me and tossing me aside like you toss everyone aside. I loved you, Courf. I loved you and I trusted you and you betrayed me! I suppose I should feel special you put up with me for so long, but in the end you just couldn’t control yourself and keep your dick in your pants. And now you think I’m just going to come flying back into your arms like this over a few bruises? Jesus, you’re so opposed to people hurting me, but it’s fine so long as it’s you, right?”

Courfeyrac had stayed silent throughout Jehan’s rant. When Jehan pauses to take a breath, he slumps in his chair and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I’m a shithead.”

Well, Jehan doesn’t protest the self-inflicted insult.

“Ever since I met you, I wanted to keep you in a cage. Keep you all locked up and take care of you, and I know that sounds really fucking creepy, but I couldn’t help myself. You were so beautiful-and you still are, but then somewhere along the way I actually fell in love with you, and I know I didn’t deserve you, what with my past history and my tendency to sleep with everybody. And I thought it’d be hard to keep myself focused on just one person, but with you around I didn’t even think twice, I never once thought of betraying you. And then you were just…gone. You were gone doing whatever it was you were doing and being famous and I was just so alone, and I missed your touch—I missed _you_. I needed you to touch me so bad I went and did something stupid and I regretted it instantly, but by then it was far too late. It’s an addiction, Jehan. And you were my medicine and then it was like my prescription ran out and I couldn’t control myself anymore. And I’m an asshole for it, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry and I’ll say it every day until you forgive me. I’ll come to that flower shop every day and say it. I’ll find out where you live and press my face against the window and apologize, I don’t care how fucked up that sounds. I’ll say it until you listen to me, until you stop running away and learn to face shit head on. You don’t need this, Jehan,” he gestures towards Jehan’s injury. “You’re so much better than that and you deserve so much better. You don’t need to run to the first guy who spits out crap about loving you, because I bet he’s a damn liar, and even if he’s not lying, he’s screwed up and if you keep hanging around with him, he’s going to screw you up too.”

“Trust me, I was screwed up the moment I thought you could ever properly love someone.”

Courfeyrac wants to scream and tear his hair out. “You’re still not listening to me! You’re the one who screwed me up! I was perfectly happy being promiscuous and carefree. I never wanted to be tied down, and then you came along and all I wanted was you, and then I couldn’t have you and I was so confused and upset. You changed me and then you left and I didn’t know how to cope with this change inside of me, so I did what I had always done in the past, and it was inexcusable, I know, but to hell if you never want to speak to me again, I just want to say that I loved you, Jean Prouvaire, and I still love you, and all I’m saying is that if you ever found it in your heart to love me again, I’d throw away all my promiscuity again and you’d be mine and mine only-and I’d _never_ leave unwanted marks on your precious body.”

To Courfeyrac’s surprise, Jehan’s expression softens and the ex-poet finally takes a seat again. He looks down, and then back up to meet Courfeyrac’s gaze, and his face twists into anger, but falls back into neutrality.

“I’ve never stopped loving you,” Jehan admits cautiously. “I thought it was you who stopped loving me. And I know I should have talked to you instead of just packing up and leaving, but it was all I knew how to do. And perhaps that’s why I threw myself onto the first guy who noticed me. Like it was some sort of punishment, as if I was the one who had done something wrong.”

Courfeyrac reaches across the table to take Jehan’s wrists again, albeit much softer than before, especially considering the marks they bore. “Jean, you don’t need to punish yourself. This needs to stop. All of this. We need to stop dancing around each other and you need to get out of this relationship before you get seriously hurt. Nobody deserves this, especially not you.”

Jehan looks down and presses his lips together in a thin line. “I suppose.”

Courfeyrac suddenly breaks out into a grin. “You didn’t oppose me calling you Jean.”

This time it’s Jehan who looks taken aback. “Sh-shut up,” he stutters. “You were distracting.”

“But would you oppose me calling you that in the future?”

Jehan bites his lip in contemplation. Before him sits then man he loves, the man he’s always loved. He’d get a warm feeling in his stomach whenever Courfeyrac called him by his name, because nobody else was allowed to. Jehan had been afraid that if Courfeyrac began calling him that again, he’d only fall in love with him all over again. But now he’s wondering if that’s such a bad thing after all.

He shakes his head slowly.

Courfeyrac chuckles. “Jean,” he whispers. “Jean, Jean, Jean, beautiful Jean.”

And Jehan scoffs and turns his head away, despite the fact that Courfeyrac’s hands are still on top of his. “Okay stop or I’ll retract my permission.”

Courfeyrac immediately shuts up.

Not for long though, because then he’s looking down and carelessly rubbing his fingers over the faint bruises on Jehan’s wrist. He still really wants to kill the culprit. “Is there any chance…” he swallows as if he hasn’t had a drink in five years. “We could maybe start over? Like, could this be a date?”

Jehan almost smiles. “As far as first dates go, I think it’d pretty safe to say this has been the worst one I’ve ever been on.”

Courfeyrac scrunches his nose. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s start this over. From the beginning beginning. Jean Prouvaire, will you leave your shit boyfriend and marry me?”

It’s a joke, Jehan is sure, but his heart still flutters. “Easy there tiger,” he laughs. “Take a guy to dinner first.”

 

\---

 

They do go to dinner.

It’s not a date-Jehan makes sure Courfeyrac understands that.

Jehan can’t forget the way Courfeyrac hurt him, and Courfeyrac can’t erase the strain he caused in their relationship. But when they’re laughing together like this like they were back in college, everything seems like it’ll be okay.

“You didn’t quit poetry because you wanted to.” It’s not a question.

Jehan nervously tries to tuck his hair behind his ear.

“I really do miss your hair,” Courfeyrac sighs.

“He didn’t like it,” Jehan responds, and Courfeyrac’s blood begins to boil. “He made me cut it. He didn’t like poetry, either. I couldn’t write anything around him. Eventually I just lost all motivation and fell out.”

Courfeyrac wants to apologize but he doesn’t know how.

Jehan shrugs though, as if he’s completely unaffected. “It’s okay, though. I like working in a flower shop. It’s good pay and it’s certainly less stressful. As least I get to sleep in my bed more than one night a month.”

Being in a relationship is hard. You have to watch yourself and make sure you don’t screw everything up, because it can always happen. Relationships never really appealed to Courfeyrac. They were a waste of time. More trouble than they were worth. But when he looks into Jehan’s eyes gazing right back at him, he doesn’t want to see another person in his life. He wants to hold Jehan and kiss him and make love to him forever and ever. But not now. Jehan wants to take it slow. He shies away when Courfeyrac tries to hold his hand. But that’s okay. Courfeyrac can wait, and maybe the world might end tomorrow or maybe someone important will drop dead, but today he loves Jehan and Jehan loves him flaws and all, and Jehan believes in him, and that’s all that matters at the moment.   


End file.
